Skylarking

Tuesday, June 29, 2021

Taking flight: a photo essay

Waaaay back in 2019 I purchased a pair of tickets to go hot air ballooning with Snohomish Balloon Rides. Ever since I was a little girl watching The Wizard of Oz on repeat from the floor of my parents' living room, I dreamt of being lifted aloft in a magical balloon experience.

I booked the last spot of that season, and was looking forward to the majestic views and heart-stopping voyage I had been imaging for decades, but that trip was thwarted by fog. "Come back next year," the owner Bob said, and I had every intention of doing so. But then, 2020.

Determined to get up this year, I emailed Bob early. "Can we still come?" I asked. He rebooked us right away, and this weekend we buzzed up to Snohomish to make the trip happen. I wore a pair of my grandma Brooks' earrings since she was a big balloon fan of any sort, to bring her along for the trip.

In the lessons learned department, during our safety talk, our pilot told us which side of the balloon would be front-facing, and I was hoping to get a spot on that side. However, we didn't hustle quite quickly enough and were placed in the back. I was a bit disappointed, but of course how can you complain when you're about to make a bucket list wish happen?

And naturally, life reminded me yet again that sometimes not getting what you want is exactly what you want, because: a) there's no bad spot on a hot air balloon b) from the back we got panoramic views of Puget Sound and the setting sun.

A few thoughts: did you know: the volume of 225,000 basketballs will fit into a hot air balloon? Piloting a balloon is significantly more difficult than I would have thought - it really is dependent on the wind and skill of the pilot. I believe we reached 2,400 feet, and then dropped into the tall grasses of the marshland (pictured below) before lifting back up and over the Snohomish River.

The challenge in taking photos from a balloon is that you're always moving. Well, that, and I was quite nervous that I would drop my phone. Well, that, and I was quite nervous to be going up at all, especially at the beginning where you go up and up, and keep on going up!

But I sallied forth, it was a perfect evening, and I hope you enjoy this collection of images from our journey.

Kayaking the Au Train River

Earlier this week my friend Barbie and I broke out of our respective houses for some non-quarantined kayaking. It was just what I needed as I hadn't been out on the water yet - at all - in 2020. She'd been down the river before, but this was my first time.

If you haven't been, it's a beautiful trip. We managed to pick a day with picture-perfect weather (70s, mostly sunny with a light breeze) and met at the take out around 10 a.m. We checked in with the Northwoods Resort and took a one-mile trip in a van with a pleasant (masked, thank you!) gent up to the put in. Though the two points are less than a mile by car, the actual trip is 7.5 miles curving in a wavy almost-loop through Hiawatha National Forest.

There were several groups on the river, but not so many that it felt uncomfortable, and for the most part, we said hello and kept moving. The river was high and ran at a good, leisurely pace, and though I definitely felt like we'd done some paddling when we were through, it wasn't too much of a challenge for someone who hadn't been out in a while. We drifted along, chatting and catching up, all while admiring the magic of Michigan.

We saw a mink, as well as turtles, a great blue heron, a couple of sandpipers (?), ducks, an enthusiastic furry friend who took a dip, and fish (Northern pike & yellow perch?). Many fish. So many fish I had to stop pointing them out or my paddling partner might have tipped me out of our kayak!

I charged my camera battery the night before, so naturally forgot it in the truck during the trip; these were taken with my phone.

There was quite a bit of rubbish in the river; beer cans in particular. Just a warm and fuzzy reminder that if you pack it in, you gotta pack it out. ♻🙒

That said, this trip was definitely a highlight of my 2020 summer! It was so renewing to enjoy nature and see a friend after much social distancing. I certainly recommend it and am grateful to have been able to have this experience.

xoxo,

Robin

Monday, June 22, 2020

Father's Day 2020

“The falls is in a remote area, but reaching it is not all that difficult.” - Great Lakes Waterfalls and Beyond website, Sturgeon Falls page

June 21, 2020, was a Father’s Day like no other. For one thing, I’m not usually with my dad on FD, but as 2020 has had many a surprise, this year I was. I woke up ready to go hiking as we had discussed the night before, but the man of the day reallyreallyreally had to go to Wa.l.Mart. So my mom and I had a quick visit with my granny, suitably masked up and ready to roll, while he did that.

Mask by Raving Unicorn.

A bunch of hours later, we set off to hike to the Sturgeon Falls, located in the heart of Ottawa National Park, around 4 p.m. All driving directions were aligning with Google Maps until we got to the point where it said drive 9.4 miles and turn right.

I really stressed that we needed to be vigilant about how many miles to go, because there was no sign. I imagine you know what happened. We missed our turn. Was the odometer supposed to be at 51 or 53? Did we include the .4 of a mile? We’ll never know.

We also missed the grouse that was meandering in the road, and the large, majestic doe that leapt out in front of the car (that said driver dad told me he didn’t see!?) But hey, a nice family was also driving the same road that we were driving on, and the man assured us that if we just took the next right, and then the next right, we’d be at the falls. He spoke with much confidence. We believed him.

We ended up on a logging road, and then another, driving the Chevy Cruze around tree limbs, mud holes, washed out rocks, and at one time, an entire tree, as there wasn’t any place to turn around. Well, that, and we kept thinking we were almost there. Right?

Wrong. Fortunately, we were able to make it back to the original-ish road and took a left, instead. At this point we took a second left and … wait for it … found the Sturgeon River!

And a map indicating that the river was next to us, but regrettably, the map didn’t say where we were on it. There’d be a bit more footage, but for some reason my mom decided to talk about certain family health problems while I was shooting, and her voice carried over the sound of the river. ... So I guess I shouldn’t share those.

We drove for a few more miles and then the siren song of the Drive-In restaurant called and we turned around. We had previously noticed a sign that said L’Anse/Baraga and made our way back to give it a try to find the way home.

It was immediately clear that we were on a snowmobile trail, and one that hadn’t been used recently, even by off-road vehicles. A couple of voices in the car said that perhaps we should turn around, but the driver, who has difficulty hearing, kept going. One mile, two miles, three miles, stop.

There’s a very bad feeling that comes over you when your sedan halts in on the top middle of a big sandy wasteland. It seems to get worse when you realize you have little food or water, parents who are older, and you have no idea where you’re at. Plus, thunderstorms heading your way and clouds of black flies.

I think we all had a collective oh $#!+ moment.

Once that was finished, I’ve never been part of a better oiled machine. Dad called 9-1-1, my mom gathered branches to put under the wheels. A shovel was procured. My dad began digging and placing sticks under one wheel while I broke down the bigger pieces and laid more sticks under the other one.

A tow truck was dispatched, but its ETA was unknown, it was 84 degrees and we were all wearing long sleeves because of the bugs, rain was looming, and we wanted to get the heck out of there. My mom and I gave the car a big push. Two pushes. We moved the car about 10 feet backwards.

Sugar sand stretched out in either direction. Our first-round sticks were mostly crushed. We began the process again - shoveling, gathering sticks, breaking them, laying a path behind the wheels. Another big push, another six feet. We’ve been at it an hour now.

Dad changes course; we’re going to shovel to the wet sand underneath the powdery sand and forget about the sticks. It’s our last try, he says. We move the car another three feet while pushing, but there’s sand, sand, sand in both directions. The car keeps bottoming out on the sand underneath; the front wheels immediately stick in the sand once we stop.

Just then, I see a vehicle heading our way. Is it an ORV or the tow truck? It’s sort of both. A big ole truck that looks more like a sport vehicle than a tow rig. The driver pops right out and starts digging. He’s got us hooked up and is pulling us out in 15 minutes flat.

Once we’re free, my dad ever-so-cautiously asks if he’ll wait for us to follow in case there’s more sand to get stuck in. He says he will. He even gestures to give it the gas when we go through deep spots.

Mom and I cheer when we get to the paved road - my dad asks what we’re cheering about. It’s 8:30 p.m. and the Drive-In Restaurant is closed, so he missed out on his Dad’s Day dinner - it’s eggs and hash browns at home now - but I ask him, was this the best Father’s Day ever? It’s the best one he can remember, he says. Now I could point out that he has certain memory lapses these days, but you know what? I'll take it. PS: We never did find the falls.