Weblog

I have been in the woods and now I have returned. For the moment, at least. I am absolutely exhausted in mind, body and spirit, and I have definitely strained the system in transitioning from camp to civilization by attending the Minnesota State Fair with some brave Menogynites and a hundred thousand others.

Thought and comprehension are impossible activities, and I find myself being overwhelmed by the smallest things. This morning I almost broke down while brushing my teeth, when I realized that I didn’t need to ration the amount of toothpaste I was using. For the first time in months, I knew that I could just drive to the store if I happened to run out.

I’m also extremely sensitive to the number of mirrors you encounter in the civilized world. I’ve barely seen myself since May, so to face any moderately reflective surface in the modern world and see myself is a rather discomforting experience. Also, ice. Ice in cold drinks blows my mind. Even the moderate excesses of modern life I find staggering.

That being said, I don’t wish to pine over the culture shocks rippling through my system, beyond the fact that this awkward transition makes it really difficult for me to know what the hell has happened to me over the course of this glorious season. Summer already draws to a close in the northcountry. The nights grow crisp, the undergrowth turns yellow, and a few impatient maples along the Gunflint Trail have already exploded in red.

As I look back, I know that this has been exactly the summer I wanted. I got to live in the woods with a small community of awesome folk, and introduced a ton of kids to the same place where I first fell in love with the outdoors. This summer I spent over 40 days camping out in the wilderness, and have reached a level of intimacy with the outdoors that I never knew possible. I am now completely tuned to its breaths and rhythms, which is why in less than a week I will be going back up to work at fall camp. My next return will be at the end of September, perhaps later.

There is so much to say, but I’m completely exhausted and thus eloquence does not come easy. So much has happened over the last three months that it will likely take me weeks to decompress. With only a few short days before I wander back up north, I won’t be able to sort it out now. This summer has blown my mind in every respect, and the only thing I can do is be patient as my brain slowly unfurls these precious thoughts.

Okay. We’ve been in a different world for well over a month, now, and a whole new vernacular has been acquired. What follows is a handy definition of terms, to help you understand the cryptic language of your Minnesota Northwoods trail guide.

Menogyn Deodorant: Fresh air and clean water.

Menogyn Intercom: A large group of people shouting your name.

Inappro: Short for ‘inappropriate’. Uttered whenever the conversation stumbles upon grounds that are not appropriate for a wilderness youth camp.

On Trail: To be ‘on trail’ is to be in the wilderness. The term is used no matter if it’s a backpacking, canoeing or rock climbing trip.

In Camp: To be in camp. This one gets confusing, as ‘in camp’ can mean ‘at Camp Menogyn’ or ‘at your campsite in the wilderness’. Thus, we sometimes say ‘off trail’ or ‘in camp on trail’ or something else that is equally awkward.

Lumi: A canoe made out of aluminum. On the water these craft resemble floating solar cookers, both in form and function. If you are paddling a lumi, we recommend using sunscreen with an SPF of at least five billion, or else you’ll burn the hell out of your legs.

Woodie: A canoe of wood canvas construction. A woodie is an absolute pleasure to paddle, but weighs 95 pounds and thus is a bit of a bear to portage.

Portage: To carry everything you have, including duluth packs, canoes and paddles, through a mosquito-infested swamp.

Paddle: What you do when you’re not portaging.

DC: Director’s Cabin. The DC is where all our trail guides convene after coming off-trail, and swap horror stories from their trip over cans of root beer.

TC: Trail Center. A restraunt down the the road from camp, where you can get fresh rhubarb malts. They also own the domain name for dorkclothing.com, so if you need any clothing with the word DORK written across it in huge letters, the TC can totally hook you up.

G-Town: Our name for Grand Marais, an overblown, overpriced tourist town on the shores of Lake Superior. G-Town used to be a really cool place, I promise, but it seems to have lost a lot of its charm and glamour over the years. Nevertheless, this outpost of civilization is the only town we have, and we love it for that very reason.

The Muni: Grand Marais’ city-owned municipal liquor store.

The Beach: A special spot on Lake Superior where we convene on our night off.

The Bilge Water: More commonly known as the Blue Water Cafe, this is a sub-par restaraunt in G-Town where we often grab breakfast after a night at the beach. According to DVB, the camp cook from last year, their coffee is the cheapest kind you can order from Sysco.

SOB: The South of the Border Cafe. A great place to grab a cheaper, nastier breakfast.

The Homeless Shelter: Also known as the train station, the large grassy lawn in front of the Grand Marais Public Library. This is where we typically spend our entire day off, with all our people and gear sprawled out all over the place.

T-Bay: Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada. The nearest theater is in Thunder Bay, so on a day off we will often drive to Canada just to see a movie. It was in this very fashion that DVB and I caught Star Wars III. T-Bay is also the closest place where I can get a signal on my cell phone.

We are currently enjoying a fine day off in the lovely-yet-tragically-overpriced town of Grand Marais. Last night we finished up our rock climbing break-in trip, which was a four-day whirlwind tour to most of the crags on the North Shore.

Before rock break-in, we had a few days in camp following our five-day canoeing break-in trip, which took us along the border route from Saganaga to Bearskin. A couple more days in camp here and there, a tour to Duluth and Minneapolis and Madison, and ya’ll are pretty much caught up.

I have been living in the woods all-but-exclusively since this wild trek began back in late May, and these brief sojourns into civilization are awkward. We are all dirty and stinky, and when a group of us goes into a restraunt they fire up the ventilation system to retain the other customers. I haven’t shaved since Memorial Day, and with my unkempt hair I look like a scraggly-ass crag rat, who sneaks leftovers off other people’s tables.

My clothes and body have attained an equilibrium of filth, a symbiotic relationship with the wilds that ensures no more dirt and stank can be added or removed from the system. My skin reacts violently to black fly bites, and after climbing at Mystical Mountain my neck, legs and elbows are now covered with swollen red bumps, each the size of a quarter. I call them my Mount Saint Fly Bites.

A few days ago, a bunch of us dirty climbing hippies went on a foray into Silver Bay to grab more cheese. Matt and I found a smashed box of powdered doughnuts in the Zup’s parking lot, which we consumed without hesitation.

Time to fly. My 30-minutes of looking at the inter-web are up, and the line is getting anxious. Cheers, ya’ll! The kids show up tomorrow, and then the real challenge begins.

I’ve been to Duluth and back. It was a spendid trip, wrought with enough activity to make my head spin. I caught up with tons of my professors and old friends, and made some new friends as well. The entire time we were up to absolutely no good, from sneaking lit cigars through the Fitger’s complex, to pilfering free kegs from the Lake Superior Brewing Company, to shouting profanities in front of foreign tourists at Palisade Head, to… well… to hear the rest you’ll just have to ask when you see me in person, now, won’t you?

If I had to sum up Duluth in one word, that word would be idiosyncratic. The town is like that weird uncle that everyone talks about, you know, the quirky one who fills the heads of his nieces and nephews with filthy lies about the world writ large. “That’s right, lad! Apples are in the meat food group because they grow on the backs of these large animals called apple beasts. I know this because I actually lived on an apple beast farm when I was about your age. If you ask your mother she’ll deny all of it, though, cuz she doesn’t think you’re old enough to know this stuff.”

As I was driving to Duluth I got to thinking what it was about that town that I liked so much. I thought of things like 8th Street Video (which is actually located on 9th Street) and the House of Donuts (which is open until the wee hours of the morning, serves tacos, and is the single place on Earth where I’ve nearly gotten in a fight with someone), which are great, but far from enough to justify the love I hold for Duluth. I mean, it’s quirky, and it’s rather pretty at times, but what was it that makes Duluth a cool city?

I pondered this as I dropped over the hill and saw Duluth and Superior unfold before me. Another feature, however, commanded my attention. Nestled between the two towns happened to be Lake Superior, the largest freshwater lake in the world. The day was windy and she was wildly angry, and even from miles away I could see huge whitecaps and crashing waves.

Somehow I had forgotten the Lake. Instantly I fell in love with her again, her grace and power and off-kilter mood swings. The Lake looked different every day that I spent in Duluth, rough or glassy, in shades of blue, green and steel… it was incredible.

The Lake sets the tone, sets the mood for the town of Duluth. As the Lake changes, Duluth changes as well. In all honestly, the weather during my trip was absolutely horrid, cold and rainy every day. I saw the sun a total of three times during the four days I spent in Duluth, and yet the mood throughout remained cheery. Perhaps it was graduation and the school year coming to an end or the elation of being in the company of old friends, or perhaps it was the free sixteen gallon keg of microbrew, but something was definitely buoying everyone in spite of the grey skies.

Come to think of it, it very well may have been the beer. I think we drank for eight hours straight on Saturday.

“I’m up for it.”

Tomorrow I’m heading to Duluth for the weekend, and the forecast is calling for highs in the 30s and snow. I have gone completely mad, as I couldn’t be more excited. Not for the weather, mind you. That sorry old git can kiss it as far as I’m concerned. Nay, I’m really excited to visit my stomping grounds and catch up with a great number of old friends.

The Trampled By Turtles concert is being held at the Norshor, which is one of my favorite music venues ever. I’ve seen and played numerous concerts at the Norshor, I’ve been to and worked for Geek Prom at the Norshor, and I’ve almost killed myself poking around in the attic of the Norshor. There are also unsubstantiated reports that I’ve run naked through the Norshor, but those are, well, unsubstantiated.

However, the most special thing about the Norshor is how it manages to twine all the frayed threads of your social life into one massive ball. A lot of Duluth feels like that, which is why I have so much of my soul tied up in that town. A lot of it is the environment, the favorite haunts, the old brick buildings, the parks, the Lake… but most of this would be utterly meaningless without the sheer mass of wonderful people who bind the whole thing together.

In all honesty, Duluth could be one of the most beautiful towns in the country (which, nine months out of the year, it appears to be clearly out of the running), but I would have no reason to go back there if it wasn’t for all the old friends that give the town a heart. Duluth is kooky, there’s no doubt about that, and it definitely takes some kooky people to live in it, let alone love it. I feel that I have been fortunate enough to know many of these folk, and they’re the reason I found the town to be not only bearable during its nine-month winters, but absolutely enjoyable.

That being said, tomorrow I trudge north into freezing temperatures and snowstorms. It’s May, and yet I welcome it in some sadistic way. Yes, I believe I have lost my mind. No, I’m not so sure I miss it.

No matter how you try to slice it, 36 hours of driving is a heck of a lot of driving. I made really good time on the drive home, putting in two 14-hour days of driving to cut down on the amount of time I’d need to drive on the last day, when I knew I’d be completely burned out.

After formulating some serious strategery in a Pizza Hut dining room, I spent the first night at a campground just outside of Helena, Montana. I had driven through some heavy rainstorms from Idaho to Missoula, and I was pretty sure those storms would catch up to me that night and give my tent a good soaking. My tent is about seven years old now, and the nylon soaks up water like cotton socks. It’s rather lovely, as my friend Hank can attest to from our backpacking trip to Oregon back in March 2003.

Anyways, at Helena I decided to gamble against the weather and spend the night camping out. All in all it rained for a total of ten minutes, though in the morning my tent was covered in frozen drops of condensation.

I was massively pissed off for most of the Dakotas. The road was under construction for half the time, and the other half it should have been under construction. The cracks and frost heaves were rough and horrible, and every so often the frequency of the bumps in the road would match the frequency of my car and trailer, maximizing each other into a kidney-rattling gauntlet of misery. I would shout and yell and complain but no one could hear me, as it would be an hour before I would see another car.

Man, there’s a lot of country in this country.

I spent the second night at a campground just outside of Aberdeen, South Dakota. I snuck into the campground just after 10:00 and left just after 5:30 the next morning, to avoid confrontation with anyone who thought I should need to pay for the night. Aside from me and a really freaky-sounding animal that growled next to my campsite the entire night, the place was completely deserted.

I had to stop in Darwin, Minnesota on the way home, just to see the World’s Largest Ball of Twine. It was truly a thing of beauty, a landmark to the infinite capabilities of mankind, and I called all my friends back in Oregon just to let them know what they were missing. Also in Darwin, I couldn’t stop laughing when I saw a sign for the Darwin Rod and Gun Club. There’s gotta be some material for a Darwin Award in there, somewhere.

I reached my hometown shortly thereafter, and I am proud to say that I am now living about 1,500 miles closer to the World’s Largest Ball of Twine than I was a week ago. It’s still a two-hour drive from here, however. I’m totally jealous of one of my friends from high school, who now teaches in a school mere minutes from the Twine Ball.

So what next? I scrubbed all the bugs off the Subaru this morning, gave her a nice wax job, dropped off the trailer, and I’ve been busy stashing my gear into every little nook and cranny I can find. I’ve got two weeks before I start my certification courses for camp, which gives me more than enough time to dig through all these boxes and pick out the junk I’m going to need for the summer.

This is finals week at UMD, so I’ll be truckin’ up there late this week to party with friends and get down with my bad self at a Trampled by Turtles concert. Also, yesterday I scouted out launch spots for kiteboarding at Lake Waconia, so as soon as we get a good day for wind I’m gonna have to jam out there and get a taste, midwest style.

One last thing. Updates will be haphazard and infrequent for the next couple weeks, and will all but cease to happen when summer rolls around. I mean geez, I’m gonna be living in the woods, people, and the last time I checked most of those jack pines aren’t broadcasting 802.11g. As for the here and now, I just don’t like this room. It’s my old Nintendo room, and aside from high-speed internet it hasn’t changed much in twelve years.

Not only does this room kinda creep me out, it’s cold, in the basement and lit with fluorescent lights. Plus, this monitor only runs at 60Hz, which gives me an awful headache, and this keyboard has a spacebar that’s been split in half and partially converted into backspace button. It’s one of the most annoying and useless features I’ve ever seen, right up there with car stereo remotes.

Speaking of annoying and useless, I’ve all but had it with Windows. If I’m still using a computer come September, I’m switching over to a Mac. Seriously. I’m sick and tired of dealing with a dead operating system, that since 1995 hasn’t seen any advancement and innovation beyond security holes and bug fixes. Windows XP has been dead so long it stinks up the entire house, and I feel like I need to bathe after using it. The scope of Longhorn has been scaled back so many times, that at this point it can’t possibly be much more than a skin upgrade for XP. From what I’ve seen so far, all they’ve done is flay XP, turn it inside out, and stitch it back together with dental floss.

No. As far as I’m concerned, Apple has trounced the competition as far as attractive, secure and usable operating systems go. I’m switching over. It’s not a matter of if, but when. Their computers are damn expensive, however, and I’ll need to reinvest in a bunch of software, so if this is indeed a mistake, at least it will be an extremely expensive mistake.

As I always say, if you think you’re gonna screw something up, you might as well make every effort to screw it up beyond all recognition. Never forget that life is all about calculated risks, long drives and red-hot lovin’.