“Into the darkness”

The sun was setting as the line was slipped from the post and the twenty-eight foot dive boat pulled slowly away from the Dock at Amy’s Amoray Dive Resort in Key Largo, heading towards the opening in the mangroves, the last daylight gradually being replaced by the darkness of the ocean ahead of us.

Snowy egrets searched the shallows for signs of dinner, hidden amongst the exposed roots of the mangroves.  The roots were doing their best to conceal tonight’s main course as we slipped by.  The mangroves seem to be an endless, tangle of roots, impossible to penetrate.  Unless, of course, you are a small fish in need of a place to hide while you grow.  These roots hide countless tiny creatures who take refuge amongst the tangles.  The mangroves provide shelter and protect the coast line from the torrents of hurricane season, all the while, surviving where other trees cannot, in the salt water.  I say a silent prayer for the calm evening and the protection of the mangroves as we pass through them.

Soon we are slipping out of the pass and into the sand flats on the outskirts of the island.  A light breeze carries us out to sea, into the unknown.  The anxiety and excitement starts to build in my stomach, the butterflies stretching their wings.

Lights from the last of the fishing boats reflect on the calming water, as we head farther out to sea.  I wonder about the stories of their captains and crews, the generations of secret spots passed down from fathers to sons….. each day now harder to make a living, hard working men and women spending fourteen hours a day on a boat, well past its prime, all for the love of the sea.

I could sense the excitement in the eyes of my children as the boat slowed into the growing darkness and started the search for the buoy that marked the watery grave of the SS Benwood.

Launched in 1909, for the Joseph Hoult company out of Liverpool, the 345 foot freighter hauled for numerous shipping companies until April 9, 1942 when the ship, then owned by a Norwegian merchant set forth on her final journey.   The ship held a small armament during war time that included twelve rifles, one four-inch gun, six depth charges, and 36 bombs.

Benwood Image by divedocumentaries.com

That same evening, the Robert C. Tuttle, a 544 foot American steam tanker was en route to Atreco, Texas.  Due to the threat of attack by German U-boats in the area, the two ships were completely blacked out, each keeping the Florida coastal lights in sight to navigate by.  The Benwood, on a routine voyage from Tampa Bay, Florida to Norfolk, Virginia, carrying a load of phosphate rock, held a crew of 38.  While they spotted other, in time, confusion ensued and the two ships collided.  It’s said that the shells aboard the Benwood exploded and the bow collapsed on itself and began to take on water.  The captain turned for shore in an attempt to save the ship by grounding, but sometime shortly before 2 am, they abandoned ship.  The Benwood came to rest in 45-55 feet of water off the Key Largo, Florida.  The Robert C. Tuttle, made for port to repair her damage.

The next day, a salvage tug was sent to inspect the wreckage and determined that the keel of the Benwood was broken and she was a total loss.  The cargo was salvaged.  The stern section, a hazard to navigation, was destroyed by explosions to remove the hazard.  She now sits in the John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park where she sank.

Later that Same year, the Robert C. Tuttle, while sailing off the east coast of the United States, hit a depth charge and one of the crew members lost their life.  A testament to the dangers of shipping along coastal waters during world war II.

Since 1942, the Benwood has become home to Goatfish, Grunts, snapper, lobster, grouper, hog fish, huge schools of parrot fish, reef sharks, turtles, and one very large Morey eel.  By day the wreck is teeming with colorful fish of all shapes and sizes, turtles, and amazing coral.

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The light peered through the growing fog in search of the weathered white buoy for several minutes until the young second mate called out “port side” and directed the captain with flailing hand gestures.  At last we had arrived.  The butterflies in my stomach took flight.

We completed our pre-dive planning and strapped into our tanks.  Safety checks repeated……No looking back now.  Waiting my turn near the back of the boat, my heart was pounding as I stepped into the seeming blackness and deafening quiet of the Atlantic Ocean.  Falling into the darkness, surrounded by an ocean of unknown I questioned my sanity for a moment.  A surreal, yet spooky feeling.  The only light came from a small glow stick tied to the back of my tank.  A small fish or two rose up to greet me through the growing darkness.  I drifted slowly towards the bottom mesmerized, I almost forgot where I was.

Oh yeah……slowly falling into the darkness and unknown beneath us, I fumbled for my flashlight.  The light secured I searched the ever increasing darkness, but the small fish had vanished,  nothingness had replaced them as far as I could imagine, and then a flash of white shattered the darkness,  followed quickly by a second flash……  The belly of a reef shark checking out my light.  My heart now beating out of my chest, I continued to fall for what seemed like forever.

Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, the shadowy outline of the Benwood came into view.  The coral covered bow was resting on the sand.  In the darkness the reef takes on a new personality.  Each nook and cranny filled with wary fish, hiding, sleeping the predators on patrol.  Parrotfish, feeders on the coral by day, take refuge all around the ship at night in a shield of their own mucus.

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My flashlight covers a small swath but I catch glimpses from the other diver’s lights exploring the ship.  I shut off my flashlight and take in the view from the lights of the others.  The ship’s hull is filled with lobster scouring the bottom for their dinner, their eyes glowing in the light.  My son searches the tears in the hull and finds a huge Morey eel peering back at him.  His excitement is hard to contain even under his mask as he excitedly gestures to show what he has found.

Another sudden flash to my left, over my daughters shoulder, turns out to be a sea turtle, awakened by our flashlights.  It narrowly misses her as it escapes to the surface.  A few moments later, my son taps his tank to get our attention and turns his flashlight on and off.  As we slip over the side of the ship, a huge nurse shark stares at us through the darkness from beneath a shattered piece of the ships hull, its eyes reflecting the light.  One swipe of its large tail and it disappears into the darkness.

We continue to search the nooks and crannies of the ship wreck.  Squirrel fish with their huge eyes, navigate the darkness.  Everywhere we look are schools of fish taking refuge in the ships remains, more life in this shipwreck than I could possibly imagine.  The colorful small reef fish that occupy this wreck by day have been replaced by the predators in search of their dinner. Reef and nurse sharks, grouper and eels all in search of a meal.

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We slip in and out of the ships structure finding treasure around every corner in the form of marine life.  Soon, another tap on his tank and my son was motioning that it was time to end our dive.

I turn my flashlight off again to take in the vast shadowy darkness of the ocean around me as I work my way to the surface. Suddenly something magical a few feet from me.  Out of nowhere, the bioluminescent glow of a small squid appeared, all alone in the vastness of the rugged Atlantic ocean, drifting silently, effortlessly.  I stop my ascent and marvel at its beauty for what seemed like minutes.  Something so simple, so marvelous.  The flash of the lights from my children above searching for my light, broke the silence and I responded with my light so as not to worry them.  A moment in time I won’t soon forget.

Our boat ride in was an endless story of what we saw in the eerie darkness.  Soon followed by “when can we do it again Dad?” Special thank you to my daughter Emma, who took several of the images in this blog post.

 

As someone who loves to explore the remote places that this planet has to offer, I feel so blessed to be able to travel and explore. From the rugged and remote places of northern Canada and Alaska to the south pacific I have hiked over mountains and across the tundra, winter camped in -30 degrees while photographing and I have been scuba diving in the Caribbean, Atlantic and Pacific oceans.  We live on such an amazing diverse planet!  So many places, so little time.  These adventures have taught me many lessons.  First and foremost is to be as prepared as I can possibly be.

Simple lessons that I have often learned the hard way.  What happens if you lose your passport? Do you have another form of picture ID with you? Which countries take American Express?  Hotels often hold a “deposit” on your credit card.  This is problematic when using a debit card!  The gas stations in northern Canada are often unmanned and don’t take Amex.  Problematic if you only have cash or and Amex card.  The list goes on and on of things I have learned the hard way.  Things I wish I had remembered to bring with me.  So after several years, I started to assemble a master list of things not to forget.  Most of the items are basic and you probably wouldn’t forget them.  But when you are packing at the last minute, you may be surprised at what you may forget. Boots? Yes, I have forgotten my boots a time or two.

A friend of mine recently went on a moose hunting trip to a remote part of Alaska.  He planned for months, balancing how much he needed vs how much he could take on the plane or the raft they were taking on their adventure.  He shipped much of his gear ahead of time via USPS.  Alaska can be an unforgiving place to get lost in.  The weather changes are drastic.  Excited for his adventure, he arrived in Alaska having thought every detail out thoroughly.  They were to pick up the gear that they had shipped ahead of time at the post office, spend the night, and then catch their float plane the next morning to start their remote adventure.  A great plan, at least until the lady that ran the post office decided she didn’t really want to open for them….or anybody else for that matter.  He and his uncle spent over a week hunting moose in the middle of nowhere, with gear they borrowed from local residents who volunteered their belongings to two strangers because the post office manager didn’t want to open.  A story he will not soon forget.

No amount of planning can make up for such drastic mishaps, but knowledge of your gear, what is critical to survive and what isn’t can save your life.

Many years ago, on a ten day adventure into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area in northern Minnesota, we had one of our food packs stolen on the first night of our adventure.  Someone cut it out of the tree we had hung it in to keep the bears out of it.  Luckily we had spread our food out over 3 canoes, each pack having similar things in it.  We ate a lot of fish on that trip, but nobody starved.

These are some extreme examples, but I have forgotten many things that would have been handy over the years.  When my kids were little and started coming with on many of the adventures, I realized that I was no longer packing for one.  Things that I could easily overcome when traveling by myself, were a bit more important when packing for a larger group, and thus I learned the importance of packing lists!  As my kids got older, my lists changed and adapted.  But before I leave on an adventure, I always go through my list.  When I get back, I try to remember to add to my list anything that I wish I would have remembered.

One other thing I think I should add.  Proper care of your gear is essential.  When you get back from your trip check to make sure that things are properly cared for and stored.  Boots oiled, tent repaired, camera gear cleaned…..Things replaced and stored someplace they will be safe.  I get my scuba dive gear inspected by a professional once a year at a minimum.

Years ago, I went on an ice fishing trip to a remote lake in Canada.  My snowmobile and portable ice house were essential.  I went through my checklist to make sure I had tools, oil, spare plugs, fishing tackle and rods, ice auger, warm clothes, helmet…..I had hung my canvas ice house on the wall in my garage the previous spring where it would be safe.  When I opened it up on the lake with the wind blowing 30 mph, I realized that a mouse had gotten into the house and chewed holes in the canvas.  Things happen.

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I have included a copy of my master list below.  Keep in mind that this is an “everything for all trips” list.  I cross off things that I don’t need on individual trips and I add specific things for specific locations.  I use it as a guideline. I keep things packed in totes for similar type trips. (camping totes, day hike totes, diving gear bag, camera suitcase……) It makes them easier to find at the last minute.  I will explain more about my particular gear in posts to come.

Please feel free to share items on your list in the comment section, that I may have forgotten.

Happy and Safe Exploring!

MASTER LIST:

Light for inside tent                                                          spotting scope/tripod

Frying pan                                                                           soap/shampoo

Dish rag/soap                                                                      towel

Coffee pot/cup                                                                   rain coat/bibs

Can opener                                                                          water shoes

Cook stove                                                                           whistle

Propane canisters                                                              boot drier

Dry bag                                                                                 boat shoes/flip flops

Paper towels                                                                       backpack(s)

Fire starter (cotton balls/Vaseline)                                backpack clips

Matches/lighter-in Ziploc bag                                         misc batteries

Reusable plates                                                                   battery chargers

Hot glove                                                                              cell phone

Small burner                                                                       GPS

Aluminum foil                                                                     maps, maps, maps

Water carrying device                                                      headlamp

Water filter                                                                          neoprene socks

First aid kit                                                                           trekking poles

Sunglasses                                                                            fleece coat

Utensils/cooking utensils                                                   knives (fillet, pocket, utility…)

Sleeping bag                                                                         gloves/mittens

Pillow                                                                                     softside cooler

Fillet knife                                                                            Ziploc bags

Tent (1,2,4,6man)                                                                garbage bags

Stakes/poles                                                                         duct tape

Tarp                                                                                       electrical tape

Rope                                                                                      misc tools

Canoe/kayak/paddles                                                       spare plugs

Life jackets                                                                           spare trailer tires/wrench

Bait-holder                                                                           jack

Tackle                                                                                   fishing net

Rods/reels                                                                            stringer/anchor/rope

Sunscreen                                                                            bug spray

Compass                                                                               water bottle

Headphones                                                                         ear plugs

Cash                                                                                       reading glasses

Medicine                                                                               toiletries

Cool aid pks                                                                         trail mix

Hats                                                                                      small saw

Hatchet/axe                                                                        thermos

Hand warmers                                                                  tow straps

Jumper cables                                                                   snow shoes

Boots (hiking ,leather, waders…)                                  gaiters (boot/neck)

Various coats                                                                     long johns

Thermal shirts                                                                 smart wool socks

Toilet paper                                                                      passport/copy/ID’s

Zip ties                                                                              chainsaw/gas/oil/sharpener/wrench

Chapstick                                                                         salt/pepper

Camp shower/charger                                                  belt

Misc medical                                                                   book to read/journal/pen

Spare charging battery/plug in                                  paperwork on reservations

Flight/parking information                                        sewing thread/needle

Binoculars                                                                     coffee, cream, sugar

Food:see separate list                                                 credit cards/cash/exchange rate?

 

Camera Gear:                                                         Diving Gear:

2 slr bodies                                                               mask/swimsuit

Underwater camera                                              snorkel/clips

Chargers/batteries                                                 fins/straps-spare

Various Lenses/caps                                              BCD

Trigger                                                                       weights

Tripod/ball head                                                     dive knife

Polarizers                                                                 sea sick patches

Lens cloths                                                               dive computer

Trail cams                                                                 regulator/bag

SD cards                                                                    boots/hood

Misc cables                                                               mask defog

lap top/chords                                                        PADI cards/DAN card

Go pro/dive housing/misc mounts                   log book/flashlight

wet suit

**This list doesn’t include various clothing items like pants, underwear, shirts- when exploring, I prefer pants or shorts with lots of pockets. Nor does it include many food items as I generally make a separate list for those.

The flaming maples were losing their battle as the pile of crimson leaves beneath them told their story, one that had played out this time of year for centuries.  Their show had been splendorous one.  The lead role of this play had now been turned over to the drama filled Aspens.  The morning breeze created a quaking sea of gold as far as the eye could see.

My senses were filled with the smell of a decadent mixture of decaying vegetation and fermenting berries.  A smell that evoked distant memories of October hunts and four legged partners.  I smiled as my mind drifted off.  I have been so blessed to have shared my time with some amazing dogs, I thought to myself.

My young Springer spaniel bounded effortlessly through the brush in front of me, searching the air for familiar scents.  The autumn forest is alive with scents like no other time of year.  I can only imagine what it smells like through the nose of a dog.

Suddenly Jake’s mannerisms changed.  A sense of excitement appeared in his tail and his searching narrowed to a clump of grass near the balsam ridge.  The young ruffed grouse had been betrayed by its own scent, one that Jake knew well.  Jake jumped skyward as the bird flushed with an eruption of air beneath its wings.  As young birds tend to do, its instinct was to fly upward away from the dog.  I gently squeezed the trigger.  Jake returned excitedly to my side to share his prize and relish the attention he was about to receive.

A perfectly camouflaged masterpiece, each feather carefully created for protection.  Not just from the owls, foxes, and coyotes, but from the biting cold of winter as well.  Its tail feathers make an elegant fan, perfect for spring drumming on the falls aspen logs and the dance that will impress potential mates.

The grouse numbers are near the bottom of their cycle, so I decide that one will satisfy my hunger.  I decided to wander back towards the lake to retrieve my small pan, can of beans, and butter from my canoe.  As we worked our way along the edge of the small bog, crossed the creek and headed towards the ridge leading to the lake.  Two more flushes as we reached the tree line, but I had already decided that one was on enough on this clear, crisp October morning.  We followed the deer trail which paralleled the ridge.  I had to admit that I was daydreaming as I walked, trying to bottle this day to be reopened in February on a cold winter morning when the wind is blowing out of the northwest and am sitting in front of the fireplace.

My daydream came to an abrupt end as Jake wandered near an old Aspen that had blown down.  The huge buck was tucked tight against the large tree that blown down during last summer’s storm.  Not twenty yards from the trail we were following, near the top of the ridge,  a perfect place to enjoy the autumn sun, without fear of an approaching pack of hungry wolves.  I’m sure he was watching us approach him, feeling confident in his hiding place and ability to escape over the ridge.   But as we approached, Jake caught his scent and turned his attention to the fallen aspen.  My day dream was interrupted by a loud familiar snort, and a flash of white as the buck broke cover, his huge antlers reflecting the sun.  His broad shoulders and massive chest meant that this was no ordinary deer.  Many long winters had hardened him.  His graying muzzle told his age. As quickly as he appeared, he vanished into the near-by bog, another treasure for those long, cold winter days.  I smiled and rubbed Jake’s head as he nuzzled up against me.

I spend the next few minutes gathering a few small branches and a curl of birch bark to be placed neatly between two flat pieces of granite for a stove.  The air was filled with the smell of melting butter and the warmth of the sun returned me to my day dreams as the grouse cooked slowly over the fire, taking on a smoky flavor.  It all felt surreal as the sound of whistling wings interrupted my day dreams this time, a pair of buffleheads who would soon join others on their journey south, flew just over our heads.

Jake watched intently as I took my first bite of the sweet white meat and closed my eyes to savor its juices.  When I opened them, he was staring directly at me…..No words necessary.  The next bite was for him.  We shared the small bird, the warmth of the sunshine and the sound of the waves against the shoreline, getting lost in the flames of the small fire.

In a moment, I was transformed to a small lake in early June.  My children and I had paddled all day long to reach the far end of the narrow lake, stopping at the small reef near our camp site to catch a few golden walleyes for dinner.  With the tent set up on a small, flat spot between two huge white pines that had been spared during the timber harvests of the past, it was the perfect place to enjoy the sunset.  My son stood on the shore, casting as my daughter helped me prepare the shore lunch potatoes, beans and fried walleyes over the camp fire.  The smell of white cedar permeated the camp site.  For a moment, my children were little again and we were exploring the boundary waters canoe area together.

My daydream ended abruptly as Jake shook the lake water from his coat, pay back I suspect for not sharing the last bite of grouse with him.  The sun dipped below the tree line and it suddenly didn’t seem so warm.  A light breeze whisked its way down the lake.  It was a near perfect day.  Jake lay close to the fire, the light flickering against his coat, his eyes closed.  I pondered what was going through his mind…….what do dogs dream of?

A month later, I sat quietly in my deer stand as I had for many years on the first weekend of November, one last chance to enjoy the woods before the winds of winter began to blow.  My stand of choice wasn’t always the most productive stand, a spot chose for its simplistic beauty and memories of past hunts.  Sitting off a black spruce point, in a bog filled with sphagnum moss and willow brush, it had grown in a lot since I was young.  A deer could pass me completely out of sight these days.  The early morning light was a pale pink and a few shots rang in the distance.  An inch of fresh snow had fallen overnight, just enough to cover the tops of the hummocks of sphagnum.  A covey of sharp tail grouse cackled back and forth as they searched for the cranberries, now covered in snow.  A large group of snow buntings swept in and landed in a near-by birth tree to be joined by a few curious chickadees.  A crisp November morning is the deer stand is a treasure worth savoring.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of movement in the brush.  Moving slowly, the doe nibbled on browse as she moved.  She came to the end of the brushy point and paused momentarily.  I have always enjoyed hunting in the bog.  The deer don’t seem quite as wary, even in wolf country.  The young doe moved slowly from the brush on a trail worn deep on the sphagnum moss over many seasons.  She paused briefly and casually looked over her shoulder, giving away her traveling companion who remained hidden in the brush, most likely her fawn who had gotten distracted.  The doe continued along the trail which would lead her within fifteen yards of my stand.  My heart rate picked up despite many years of hunting.  She worked her way cautiously towards me, pausing occasionally to look over her shoulder and flip her tail as a sign of reassurance.  My eyes searched the brush for any sign of movement……Nothing.  As she passed my stand, I heard him.  A long guttural grunt from somewhere in the tangled mass of willow.  Again she turned and glanced, followed by the reassuring tail flip.  Another grunt, this one longer, sounding similar to that of a cow.  My heart started to race as my eyes strained.  And then, seemingly out of nowhere, he stood just inside the brush, the sun shimmering off of his freshly polished antlers…..his gray muzzle and broad chest now in clear sight.

My mind escaped to the warm October afternoon, the clear blue sky and shimmering aspens.  I could smell the camp fire and the butter in the pan.  I could taste the sweet meat of the grouse and feel Jake rubbing against my shoulder for attention.

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On this Valentine’s day, I thought I would share something different.  It seems like the right time to share a story about love and how that love helped shape my compassion for animals and my passion for exploring and adventure.

 

  “Cat Food”

I peered out the frosty window as the sun peeked over the distant tree line.  Everything was covered in the first heavy frost of the year, and a thin blanket of ice.  Each crystal was glistening in the October sunshine.  All too soon, the frost would be replaced by snow that would quiet the world like a heavy blanket for months to come.  The frost on the old window was mesmerizing, swirling from one edge of the window to the other in intricate detail.  Soon thereafter, the sun cleared the trees and frost-filled world began to melt away.

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I was so caught up in the glistening world before me that I didn’t even notice them at first.  Curled up together on the front porch, just below the window, soaking up the first rays of warmth from the sun, were seven kittens barely a few months old.  “Grandma,  I think the kittens are cold and hungry.”  I said in the innocent voice of a child.  “Do you have any cat food?”  “They are farm cats.  They are supposed to eat mice” she explained as she glanced out the frosty window to see what I was watching.  “But they look so cold” I pointed out.  “The one with the black tip on his tail cat get in the ball to even warm up” I replied matter of factly.  “They can warm up in the barn.  There is plenty of straw to lay in.”  “Please Grandma” I pleaded.

Five minutes later we were collecting eggs from the chicken coop for the heartiest breakfast these kittens would ever know, complete with some fresh milk from the barn.  After all, kittens need fresh, creamy milk from the cows if they are going to chase mice all day!

My grandma never could say no to me, even when she probably should have.  I returned from the chicken coop with fourteen eggs and the smallest chicken of the bunch.  She was cold too!  Apparently my grandma drew the line at chickens in the house.

(Yes, thats little chick in my arms.  The back of the photo says “October 1971- 28 degrees)

Later that afternoon my grandma helped me make a warm straw bed in the barn for the kittens and a special spot in the coop, next to the heater, for little chick.

Having grown up on a farm as the daughter of immigrants, her childhood was much different than mine.  All animals had a purpose on the farm.  If then didn’t then they weren’t of much use.  But through my eyes, she slowly began to see the world a bit differently again.  The eyes of a child.

For much of my childhood, my grandma lived on the farm with only my uncle, my grandfather having passed away when I was three.  I am still amazed at how easy she made the work of running a farm look.  I remember her washing clothes with the old wringer-washer and hanging the clothes on the line in the yard to dry in the summer breeze.  The endless hours she worked in her vegetable gardens with my help.  (I did far more eating than helping)

The farm was every boys dream, with hundreds of acres to roam and explore.  From the time I was  five or six, I was given the freedom to explore on my own as long as I took the dog (Spotty) with me.  Spotty was an old, overweight, mixed breed who’s pace matched that of a young boy.  Her white and black fur made her easy to spot from the kitchen through my grandmas binoculars.  I doubt that Spotty could have protected me from any of the wild animals that roamed her northern Minnesota farm, but she made the both of us feel better about my adventures.

Often times, my grandma would join me on my expeditions, disguising her motherly instincts as “I need to pick some berries” or “The table could use some fresh flowers.”  Spotty and I were always glad to have the company and we knew that she would happily share her berries!

I spent most every summer at my grandma’s until I was a teenager.  We had a bond that is hard for me to explain.  It was the first relationship that I knew where talking wasn’t required all that much.  We could pick berries, go for walks, feed the animals, sit in a fishing boat…..just enjoying each others company.  We used to go on long drives down the local gravel roads in search of flowers, deer and sunsets.  When I was old enough to reach the pedals, she even let me drive the car, while she searched for animals or flowers along the road.

The next time I visited my grandma after the frosty morning, there was a large dish of cat food on the porch beneath the old farm house window.  Over the years she fed many stray cats and an occasional skunk or raccoon out of that dish.  Every time we went to the grocery store and bought cat food, I could hear her quietly mutter to herself “Stupid cats!  Too fat to chase mice anymore!”  But that dish remained full until the day she left the farm for good.

And so it began on that frost October morning with a littler of barn kittens, a runt chicken names little chick, and a grandmother who loved me very much…… a lifetime of compassion for animals and a desire to explore as often as I can.

I return to the farm as often as I can these days.  No matter where I travel or live, it will always be my home.  The place where I can close my eyes, feel the warmth of the autumn sun and hear her calling me in for dinner.

A few images I have taken exploring on the farm over the years.

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Several months had passed since I had been able to escape the office. My mind was swimming in chaos, unable to keep everything straight, all the balls in the air so to speak.

There was a time when the daily challenges of my job drove me to accomplish many things. What I didn’t understand at the time is the effect that the drama, stress, and chaos would have on me long term. The toll that the chaos of life has on your mental energy, your patience and your outlook over a life time is all too often understated.

These days I much prefer to escape the stress as often as possible. It relaxes me and makes me much better at my job, a better father, husband and person. I prefer the simple silence of the wind whispering it’s way across the prairie, the trickling of a mountain stream, and the song of a chickadee early in the morning.

So when the construction season ended, I jumped at the chance to escape into the mountains. Some of you may consider a two day drive and a trek into the frozen mountains of Yellowstone in the middle of the winter with just my show shoes, a foolish adventure. What I discovered may change your mind?

As the morning sky started to glow over the mountain tops, I strapped on my snow shoes, the snow noisily crunching beneath my weight. The frigid night was evident all around me. The stream in the valley cast a fog skyward, as if on fire. Frosty branches cracked noisily adding to the symphony of wondrous sounds. I closed my eyes in silent prayer to thank God for the coming day, eyes to clearly see his majesty in the mountains around me and ears to hear his whispers. I was really praying for a clear mind, for him to remove the stress and chaos that tends to fill my days, the stress that I had come to Yellowstone in the dead of winter to escape.

In the back of my mind I could hear my dad saying “No matter where you go there you are!” The words flashing through my memory as I took the first few steps into the valley. “Then maybe I am here to lose myself!” I thought angrily.

My lungs burned as they icy air filled them, painful at first, but exhilarating as I pressed on, my destination unknown.  I slowly worked my way over the first hill, drawn to the foggy valley. The brutally cold air made each foot step a clashing of symbols for all to hear. “I will never see anything at this rate” I thought frustratingly.

Mid way down the hill a small ravine split off to my left, the sunlight streaking across it. The valley was warming slightly as the sun peered over the peaks to my east. The sound beneath my snowshoes quieted to a gentle swish as the sun warmed the snow slowly. As I approached the ravine, a small herd of elk appeared on the near-by ridge. Seven or eight young bulls had taken refuge from the icy wind in the tree cover during the night.

Since the reintroduction of the grey wolf, the elk have become much more skittish. Even these healthy bulls are wary of my presence. In recent years the elk seem to spend more time in the cover of the lodge pole pines until dark, rather than in search of grass in the valleys. This small group of bulls seems satisfied that I am harmless and begin to feed on the wind-blown ridge where the snow isn’t as deep.

My legs are loosening up a bit and the going is easier as I drop into the valley. The frost is glistening in the morning sun as I stop to soak up the warmth of the rays. The gentle trickle of a stream fills the air, but it is still cloaked in morning fog. An eerie chill blows through the valley as the warmth of the sun quickly disappears.

The snow is deeper in the valley and my legs strain to make progress. No wonder the elk stick to the ridges and hillsides. Off to my west, a small group of big horn sheep cling to the rocky hillside. They pay no attention to me as I approach through the deep snow below them, secure in their ability to cling to the cliffs for protection. Several rams and two ewes easily navigate the steep hillside in search of grassy tufts for breakfast. The rams occasionally stop for a boastful pose to their competition to be followed by a swift kick to the underside to test their will. The ewes feed on, leaving the testosterone-filled rams to themselves.

I move on, working my way towards the sound of the stream, stopping periodically to check my bearings. Navigating solely by sound as the fog has enveloped the entire valley now. The symphony of the small stream is all around me now and I am confused for a moment. I have walked into an oxbow without managing to catch a glimpse of the stream. As I stop to listen, a new sound adds to the mystery through the heavy morning fog. It sounds like snow shoveling. How can that be? I am now miles from anyone……but not alone.

I take a few cautious steps towards the direction of the mysterious sounds and the long guttural grunt gives away its source.  A large bull bison is spending his morning in search of the valley’s grasses. His massive head swinging back and forth, pushing aside the soft snow like a bulldozer. “Seems like a lot of work for a few mouthfuls of dead grass” I think to myself. But that is the life of a Yellowstone bison, a hard life, but a wild life. The bulls live mostly a solitary existence, roaming the hills and grasslands of Yellowstone, spending only a few weeks each summer with the rest of the herd to compete for mates. I can see him now, barely 30 yards from me, swinging his massive head back and forth, oblivious to the chaotic world around him, focused on the grumbling in his belly.

I cross the small stream, heading away from the bison, leaving him to his snow relocation project, my mind straining to free itself from its own stress-filled fog. The sun is slowly starting to burn off the early morning fog and the mountainside peeks through the shroud, cloaked in the frosty dress that her creator picked out for her. I stop and stare up at the massive peak, in awe at the splendor of all that surrounds me and amazed at how small I really am. My ears are straining to hear the whispering symphony. It is so quiet.  My ears latch on to the sound of the wind through the pine trees, and the trickle of the half-frozen stream.

My legs are starting to feel their age, so I slip off my snowshoes and sit down on a flat rock in the sun to drink a cup of warm coffee from my thermos and eat a small sandwich that I had tucked in my day pack. The smell of the coffee fills my nostrils with an intense aroma.  I lay back in the snow, close my eyes, and just breathe it all in.

The warmth of the rising sun is more powerful than I imagined and adds to the sense of contentment as I sit quietly for what seemed like an hour.  The sudden gust of wind brings me back to reality.  The clouds are starting to build over the peaks to the west, evidence of the forecasted snow storm, a reminder that I am now five or six miles from the truck.

Shortly after my sun-filled nap, I find myself in the middle of a snow squall, intermittent at first with patches of sun between stinging, wind-blown snow crystals, then gradually they give way to a white out.  Storms in the mountains are much different than at home.  They come and go quicker than I can imagine.  At times, I lose sight of the mountain peaks all together.  My mind escapes to the bison in the valley, his fight against the snow would get a bit harder now.

A couple of hours into my return trip and I am still a few miles from the truck.  I am fighting the snow and wind for each step. Luckily the snow is starting to let up and I can see patches of blue sky over the mountains again as I emerge from the woods into a long, sweeping valley.

It’s refreshing to be out of the wind for a change and I am not the only one who thinks so.  I notice movement in the nearby sage brush.  A young coyote sneaks quietly, in search of a meal.  He slips in an out of the brush, stopping periodically to listen beneath the snow for any sign of movement.  His head turns from side to side, listening intently.  He knows I am there, but seems unconcerned with me, focused on his task at hand.

And then a change in his routine….. as he crouches and listens more intently.  Suddenly he leaps into the air then disappears beneath the snow.  My smile widens at what I had just witnessed.  The snow covers his entire body for an instant, and when he reappears, his mouth is stuffed with a large shrew which he proceeds to show me proudly.  Too much for him to swallow, he chews intently over and over.  Several times he tries to swallow it, only to gag it back up and chew some more.  It is quite a show and I am overjoyed at how easily I am entertained by this simple show that plays out hundreds of times each day in this winter wonderland.  He was gone as quickly as he appeared, slipping silently through the brush in search of dessert, hidden beneath the snow.

Across the valley, the trumpets of the orchestra are tuning up.  (Ravens)  They seemingly delight in playing different tunes all at the same.  I wonder what has brought them all together for the show?  I pull my binoculars from my pack and stop to watch their performance.  A wolf kill lays in the center of their concert.  An elk is the latest victim of the pack.  The ravens aren’t the only ones celebrating.  Two bald eagles sit atop the cottonwood trees, studying the crime scene, waiting for their turn at the table.  They cautiously search the tree line for any sign of the wolves, talking back and forth to each other. “What’s for dinner?”  “Elk again?”  “Do you see any wolves?”  “No?”  “ Me either.”  “Are you going to harass the ravens first or can I?”  My imagination gets the best of me during the concert.  The symphony seems to go on and on, as I turn my attention back to the return trip.

The sun was out again, but not as warm as it was earlier in the day as it slipped lower in the sky.  Soon it would fall below the mountains and the valley would cool quickly.  The shadows were growing quickly now and stretched across my path.  My strides were getting a little shorter, but it felt good to be physically tired.  With each breath my lungs were filled with cool, crisp mountain air.  As I continued westward, I stopped occasionally to watch a herd of bison feeding above me on a wind-blow slope of the mountainside.  A small group of elk fed warily close to the tree line,  possibly the same group that lost a member to the jaws of the wolves last night?

The low sun revealed a wondrous work of art on the nearby hillside.  The dancing shadows of the snow sculpture created by the wind.  My eyes scour the hillside for the swirls left behind.  Each rock, tuft of grass or tree slowed the wind just enough to shape the snow in a unique way,  its creation now casting shadows to finish the work of art.  If it weren’t for the long shadows, I would have missed it entirely.  I stopped to enjoy the gallery created before me, looking for faces in the snow, I felt like a child again, searching the clouds for animals.  It’s true, we really do see things as we are, not as they are.  Had I left some of my stress in the valley to play with the bison, coyotes and the elk?

I neared the truck just as the sun dipped below the mountains, lighting the clouds near the peaks, one more brilliant show, not to be missed.  I thanked God for answering my prayers, for casting my worries away with the wind.  As I stood in silence, the wolves returned to their kill.  Their lonely calls filled the valley as if God were answering me with his whispers.

            Imagine a place so wondrous that colorful lights dance their way across the midnight sky.  Magical creatures illuminate the depths of the ocean.  A place so quiet that you can hear the waves of grain dancing in the wind.  A place where your heartbeat disturbs the silence.

 

            If you listen carefully, you can almost hear the crystal-clear mountain stream rushing its way down the mountainside.  Can you hear its laughter?  Can you hear the winter wind chasing itself through a stand of white pines?  The playful calls of a chickadee, a bugle of a bull elk just over the next ridge, or the lonesome cry of a loon?  It’s what I like to call “the symphony”.

 

            Our world is a magical place full of beauty and wonder.  All too often we are simply too busy or our mind’s too cluttered to see it clearly.  I have found that if I simply slow down, calm my mind and listen carefully that God reveals his majesty and calms my mind.

            “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”  –Marcel Proust

            As I start this blog, it is my sincere hope that as you read the stories and view the photos captured on our journeys around this amazing planet, you can slow down, calm your mind and see the creator behind it all.  Without him we are all just Chasing the Wind.

A little about me:

 I am a 52-year-old husband and father of two.  We live on a small lake in Northern Minnesota where all our adventures begin.

            My yearning for adventure started many years ago on my grandparent’s farm near the Minnesota-Canada border where I would spend hours getting lost with the family dog, Spotty, as early as the age of 5, on the 300-acre farm with thousands of acres of public forest nearby.

            That love of exploring turned to Minnesota’s Boundary Waters Canoe area when I was a teenager.  I can still hear the crackling of those early campfires, the songs of the loons and taste of the walleyes cooked over the campfire with my friends.

            Like many, life seemed to interrupt my time spent exploring.  A wife, family, job… I have now owned my own engineering firm for over twenty years, and even built our first home (with a lot of my wife’s help).  All important things, and I have tried to enjoy the ride.  As my children grew, so did our adventures together.  I hoped that they may have the same love for exploring and adventure that I do.

            Our early trips included wading in rivers along Minnesota’s shore of Lake Superior, camping trips to Voyageurs National Park, the Boundary Waters Canoe Area, and many more trips closer to home.  Following tracks in the snow, searching the shallows along the lake for frogs, building our own pond and filling it with fish we caught off the dock.  And then we started to venture a bit farther from home, hiking and exploring in Hawaii, Yellowstone, Glacier National Park, and places throughout the US and Canada.  On many of our adventures we brought along some wonderful teenagers (adopted family so to speak) and shared our love for the wilderness with them as well.

            We all became certified scuba divers and have spent many hours exploring the ocean depths together in places like Honduras, the Cayman Islands, the Florida Keys, and the Great Barrier reef in Australia.

           

We have climbed mountains together and spent many hours exploring the wild places throughout the United States, Canada, Australia and elsewhere, gathering photos and memories wherever we have gone.  Storing them to be shared on frigid January days when the thermometer doesn’t want to budge above -20^o.

            We opened a small nature photography gallery in our home town of Bemidji, Minnesota with hopes of spending more time photographing, exploring and writing in the years to come.  Some of the images can be seen on our web site and others on our Facebook page (Chasing the Wind Photography).

I hope that this is a different kind of blog.  Yes, I will share tips from things I have learned over the years, gear I use, places we stay…  But more than that, I want to share a love for the wild places of the world, the subtle sounds and sights to get lost in, and he who created them all.

            It’s one thing to travel, another thing entirely to explore and lose yourself in the silences and wonders.

            “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.”  –Helen Keller