As the northland wraps up an unusual March, there has been a lot of speculation and excitement about ice-out on upper trail lakes. Needless to say, as the last of the hard water sinks into oblivion, folks are reflecting on when was the earliest they have ever seen this happen.
This broadcast/column comes together with barely a chunk of ice left anywhere in the territory. The Gunflint saw her winter coat become official history during the nighttime hours of March 24-25. This date is the earliest by 16 days over the past 30 years. It also beats the old gal’s average by some five to six weeks.
The only report of remaining ice came from Poplar Lake and one patch on Seagull that I observed last Sunday morning. I can’t help but think that these last vestiges will not be around by the time this Gunflint news reaches your eyes or ears.
Reflecting on the winter that wasn’t, it got started about a month late and ended about a month and a half early. We were definitely gypped out of our usual six to seven month bragging rights. There are many that scoff at the global warming phenomenon; scoffers should wake up and take a good look at what’s been going on!
The territory finally got some much-needed moisture since our last visit on the radio. Although the rains did little to ease the dry conditions for the long term or add to shrunken lake levels, the inch or more that fell into my rain gauge over the past seven days did dampen the tinder forest at least momentarily.
It seems prudent, now that lake ice is gone, that there be no procrastination about getting wildfire sprinkler lines out into the water and pump engines ready to be fired up! Our current damp conditions will surely not last long with the powerful spring sun and those perpetual southerly winds that ended winter so abruptly.
So the wilderness is all about bunnies, buds and bears now that April’s on the horizon. With very few manmade piles of snow remaining, the only real element of white on the landscape is snowshoe hares, and they are probably a bit confused with this premature seasonal behavior.
A few days ago, I counted just shy of a dozen of the white fur balls along the South Gunflint lake Road. They were a stark white with barely a bit of color, indicating that they were not prepared for the exit of their winter camouflage. Standing out like a proverbial sore thumb against the drab gray/brown background, they were out en masse nibbling on the first green tidbits peeking out of the soil.
As to the buds and bears, both are making appearances sooner than expected. Green tips are on the lilacs, high bush cranberries and even a few young birch trees. I even got a peek at some minute open leaves on pin cherry trees, while pussy willow buds are so advanced they have popped their protective husks.
I’m told that some have observed the emergence of our black brunos, although none have shown around Wildersmith to date. With that in mind, I have taken in some of the avian feeding structures so as to avoid temptations. I make the same recommendation to others around the area. No need for us to create a nuisance bear! Skunks have also awakened from winter slumber and the first chipmunk is skittering about our yard.
Disappointed as many of us north woods folks are regarding the winter flop, I must say that border country is still offering up splendid natural wonders. Such was the case last Saturday evening.
A short walk down to the Gunflint shore to confirm the ice-out status found me intrigued with what was going on up and down the waters. Characters from every season were beckoning my attention.
To begin with, most of the lake ice was gone, and brisk northwest winds were rolling the lake into a summer day’s frenzy.
At the same moment, a mass of crystal shards were pressed against the granite shoreline tinkling in melodic harmony as the wind wept currents played the icy leftovers like a huge xylophone.
Glancing down the lake, old Sol was dropping out of a dark cloud bank. In moments it exploded over the panorama with an eye-catching bronzy autumn-like sunset.
As my focus scanned lower, surveying the lake surface, a thin layer of ghost-like vapors hung over the cold liquid, and the sun lit up the gauzy fog in 24-carat splendor of the new season.
During those brief moments, shivers overcame my being. I don’t know if they were caused by falling late day temps, or by the exuberance of beauty before me. With all the magnificence going on at that moment, guess I can’t be holding a grudge against Mother Nature for short-changing us on winter! We’ll just give her another chance in several months.
Keep on hangin’ on, and savor some wilderness time!
Airdate: March 30, 2012
Photo courtesy of Ryan Harvey on Flickr.