Two Harbors

On the weekend of Nov. 3, I joined my extended family for our annual gathering at Superior Shores - Burlington Bay. We spent time at the resort, hiked in surrounding woods and shore and visited places of interest. Agate Bay is always a special place to visit as it has a nice granite shore where you can venture along the coast and have your senses full of wind and water breaking against the rock. Take a walk out along the stone wall breakwater to the lighthouse and you can view the enormous ore ships coming in and out of port, loading with taconite and continuing on their way. They perform their own nautical ballet as they perform an acrobatic v-turn, backing out and surging their electric bow thrusters to whip themselves around and power forth, out of the harbor. The size and mighty power of the vessels, churning the water into foam, forms a perfect marriage to the immensity of the natural environment of lake, rock and sky around you. Speaking of immensity, the last of world's great locomotives sits near the taconite harbor - a remnant of the early iron range days. The industrial behemoth, once a cacophony of steam pressure and metal now sits silent. It would have made a perfect centerpiece of any David Lynch film.
Akin to the strongest religion I could have is my early-morning kayak journey upon the great Lake Superior. Just as the sun emerges, renewed from its nightime slumber beneath the waves, I push out alone into the chill air, to glide upon the glacial sea. With a spin of purposeful strokes I am soon gone from view to round the point of Burlington Bay and greet the sun. The higher that globe the stronger the winds and greater the swells. It was lovely to see the bow hatch, decorated with the Tree of Gondor, glazing itself over in ice with the retreat of each successive wave. Today I would play with landings and put-outs as I filmed them in my best 'Les Stroud.' Though the wind be chill and the water frigid, even its cold reality down my spray-skirt or when my sandled foot would sink into the icewater at landing, gave me a rich satisfaction and true chuckle. Oh, the feeling of being utterly alone and having naught but a landing of ancient lava, ridged with pines and birch, the rythmic crash of wind swept waves and a warming sun that greeted the water at the same time as I. We were good friends that day.

On the return journey home my current 'sea change' of lifestyle afforded me a peace that led me down the 'scenic' road homeward. It was during this return journey that I stopped at the silversmith B.E. Nelson's mead hall. I call it that because the Nordic influence, woven into every timber of the structure, sung out proudly. I even spent awhile walking the 20-some feet to the door, taking in every carving and ornament of artistic hand. On the door, cut into metal, was 'Welkommen' spelled out in Nordic runes. I opened the door and entered into authenticity. Norse and Celtic design was all about.The stamp of skilled artistry was everywhere and I entered a long and kindred conversation with the proprietor for well over an hour, exchanging interests and seeing things that few others would ever have the opportunity to. It was another beautiful gift of an experience. I then continued to Kendall's fish shop, bought some smoked goldies and exchanged some words with a young worker and fellow kayaker who had come out to admire my boat. And just as he bid me, I bid you, "Happy Paddling!"