Birthday on the Chippewa

June 13, 2001 - Reunion On The Chippewa

Annemarie/Mom asked me what I would like to do on my Birthday and the first thing that came to mind up here in the North country was to spend the day on one of my favorite spots: The Chippewa & Torch rivers. Due to weather reports, we decided to head out on Monday to catch the more favorable WX day. Here is a brief summary of the day:

We slipped the Aluminum canoe in the Chippewa just below Lower Clam and found the water level some two feet higher than normal due to a ,later discovered, large Beaver dam downstream at the inlet to Cat tail lake. We started seeing deer and ducks immediately and almost laughed out loud at a large blue heron who lifted off the river only several feet away from us and than promptly tried to land on a branch of a large dead tree only to have the branch break off due to his weight- The heron dropped several feet when the branch broke and almost landed on the ground before recovering with tremendous wing flapping and again became airborne - looked like something directly from a Disney movie !

We ate a picnic lunch on Cat Tail Lake while observing the large Eagle Nest on the South end of the lake and watching the mother and father Eagles soar over us while protecting their nest. We proceeded to the point in the Chippewa where the Torch enters and pointed the canoe up river and silently entered a World that seldom sees the sight of humans. The Torch River is that World and we could sense that we entered that World as we portaged over the first large Beaver dam that is encountered shortly after we began our upstream adventure. Prior to that we could see the tell - tale signs of man ( aluminum boat and canoe marks) on the river rocks as other humans made their way up river, but when confronted with increasing rocks, logs, and the narrowing river channel and than finally running the final test of negotiating their way over or around a large beaver dam had decided to terminate their upstream adventure and leave the rest to their imagination and return to the more user friendly portion of the river and head back down river. Mom and I continued up the narrowing river and passed the inlet where the hidden wilderness lake called Kelly Lake enters the Torch. We immediately started seeing more deer at river side and the river banks were covered with their tracks along with the tracks of raccoons, beavers and muskrats. Up river about one mile, we turned the canoe back down river, and Mom became the fishing guide as she took over the back of the canoe and silently steered the river as I began to seriously fish the elusive musky. Every sharp bent of the river where the river current cut some depths were potential feeding areas for the musky and on this memorable day, it seemed that we had action on almost every one of these spots. In a short period of time I had landed and released three fine muskies and lost two more. As you know these river muskies are tremendous fighters as they have to constantly swim the currents. One of the muskies hit my red and white spoon when it was retrieved and fully out of the water. It covered me with water and literally woke me up which is quite an accomplishment when considering the source. Another muskie stood on its tail and shook the hook in a classic musky tactic. Another muskie shot off a sand bar ahead of the canoe and made a wake as it went down river in shallow water and I quickly cast ahead of it with my spoon and as the muskie passed by my retrieving spoon it turned in a rush and hit the spoon and the fight was on. Just before passing the beaver dam and returning to the land of civilization, we heard a rustle in the river bank high grasses and I stood in the canoe to see a newly dropped faun struggle to its wobbly feet and observe some alien from another world.

When we returned to Cat tail lake we heard the eaglets shriek their meal orders to their parents soaring high in the skies. As we proceeded back up the Chippewa the wind fell silent turning the lake and river to a glassy finish only punctuated by the

gently falling rain that began as we left Cat Tail Lake.

Several deer and ducks later, we arrived where we started the day some four hours earlier. We pulled up the canoe at the river landing, loaded our gear in the Explorer and headed home to Clam Lake and told each other that we were already looking forward to another reunion on the Chippewa and Torch Rivers and were already planning to introduce the grandchild to those unique and wonderful worlds. A great way to spend a Birthday and I thank Mom for arranging the day and being a patient and loving guide.

Looking forward to spending many more days on the river with my family members.

Trip on East Fork of Chippewa

East Fork of the Chippewa – 21 June 08

Saturday morning greeted us with beautiful blue skies and a gentle NW wind. A perfect day for a river trip on the East Fork of the Chippewa starting about one mile above Bear Lake with destination some 7 miles down stream to county trunk GG. The Mike Newell family, Mike, Heidi, and their children, Mikey (11), Charlie (10), Will (7) and Abby (5) in their Kayaks, and Grandparents, Tom and Annemarie Stuebe (ages unknown) in their aluminum canoe. In transporting our drop off vehicle to the destination we saw a young bear, near Cub and Bear Lake in the middle of the Fire road. A good start we all thought.

The river was somewhat swollen from the recent heavy rains and the NW wind kept the bugs to a minimum, but the wind grew in strength and soon became a challenge as it hit us straight on as we paddled across Bear Lake looking for the river outlet. The young ones had to really paddle hard for a steady two hours against the heavy headwind so we were all somewhat spent by the time we hit the first rapids. The first rapids were white and challenging and brought new life (and adrenaline) and excitement in the children and adults as well and it was heart warming to see how fearless and talented the children were in easily navigating the V’s and pillows of this first potentionally hazardous white water. We were then challenged by a sudden thunderstorm which dumped heavy rains on us for some 30 minutes. We had to pull the aluminum canoe (lightning rod) up on the river bank and stood under a large black elm tree which served as an umbrella only for some 10 short minutes and when its massive branches became saturated we all got soaked to the skin. Because of the thunder and lightening we prayed and even shouted loud to Grand Dad Bruce Newell (he was at his home in PA) who seemed to respond with his famous phrase: “Be Independent of your own Environment”. The children were extremely brave and we all laughed at our predicament. Suddenly the storm passed, and the Sun came out and warmed our soaked and cold exteriors and we continued on our down-stream adventure. We soon confronted our final set of white water rapids before the bridge over GG, which signified our final destination. The Newell family in their kayaks sailed through this final obstacle course with ease and their Grandparents (Opa and Oma followed bravely in the white water froth with the end in sight. Suddenly their canoe became lodged on a large partially submerged boulder. Then, the worst-case scenario unfolded with the canoe dipping sideways and filling with the rushing water. Oma reacting quickly, gathering boat cushions, coolers, and provisions, stepping out of the water filled canoe and stabilizing herself on 2 boulders wedging her canoe paddles between 2 rocks and holding on for dear life until big Mike came to the rescue. Luckily, big Mike, saw the dilemma and waded upstream against the rushing current and helped stabilize the capsized canoe. Opa held-on to his prized musky rod with an iron fist even at the expense of possibly seeing Oma washing down stream. Then came the task of rescuing the canoe, which was weighted down in the grips of the rushing water. Thanks to the strength of Big Mike we were able to move the canoe forward of the boulder and turn it over to dump the water and return it to a canoe again.

After loading the kayaks and canoe in sunny and warm weather, we all agreed that the this trip will go down in memories as the trip:

• We will never forget.

• A trip where the children dug into their inner strengths and clearly represented the old saying “ When the going gets tough, the tough get going”. For that matter, the adults did too.

• “It was the best of times” “ It was the worst of times.”

THANKS FOR THE RESUE BIG MIKE---WE OWE YOU ONE!

Recorded by Dad/Dad Stuebe/Opa June 2008

Happy Days on the Chippewa

Happy Days on the Chippewa

I started canoeing the West Fork of the Chippewa River in Northern Wisconsin when I was so young that my parents had to place me in a wicker basket, which rested, in an old inner tube in the middle of the canoe. As I grew, my father taught me where the fish were hiding in the steep cuts of the riverbanks and how they waited at the bottom of the rapids for food to drift through. He also taught me about the flora and fauna of the Upper Chippewa River basin (which includes both the West and East Forks of the Chippewa rivers) and most importantly about how to respect nature and its beauty. I grew up there in a log home that was on the shoreline of one the many lakes that the Chippewa River created after the retreat of the glaciers. I was fortunate to canoe with my father on his last river trip some two years before he passed away. During his last two years, I was pleased to see how much enjoyment he received when he was briefed on my experiences on the river that he could no longer physically negotiate. In my later years, I’m slowly beginning to realize how important these briefings were to my father as I can now realize that someday I, too, would need those briefings from my family members to relive those days on the river.

I no longer think about how many times I’ve fished the West and East forks of the Chippewa. Its trees and rocks and pools and bends have weathered the years much better than I. My yesterdays now outnumber my tomorrows, and time has claimed too many friends. But in May, when the Chippewa overflows its banks with might, I can still believe I may live forever.

I will canoe and fish that river and the rivers that flow into it until I am no longer able. Then I will physically leave the river, but hopefully continue to live the experiences through the eyes of and descriptions from my children and grand children who have earlier shared with me the roar of its rapids, the thrills of an occasional fish, and the pristine beauty of its flora, fauna and silent peacefulness. The fancy word describing such a phenomenon is vicarious. Living experiences vicariously can and sometimes are better than the actual living experience. I can hope so.

My days on the Chippewa have been exceptionally happy ones thanks to my loving and caring wife and my children. They all love and respect the north woods where I was born and raised. I have been blessed in many ways, and one of these is the way my wife has accepted my childhood place and has grown to love it as much as I. Because of her love and understanding, our three children have grown up to also love the north woods and because of this, their selected spouses and follow-on children (my grandchildren) have also adopted a place in their hearts for this remote wilderness location with its lakes, rivers and streams. Luckily for our family and everyone, both these upper river basins, for the most part, lie in the Chequamagon National Forest and as such will never be developed and are open to the public for fishing, hunting, hiking, biking and other general recreational purposes. It is with that background, I can, one day, depart this world, with the peace of knowing that my children and their children and hopefully a continuing trail of our family will enjoy the peace and quiet of the north woods while navigating these pristine river basins.

Evening on Clam Lake

Evening on Clam Lake

We slipped into the lake with the silent green canoe around 8 P.M., when the wind had gone to zero and the lake was like glass. The first animal we encountered was a large beaver at grassy island. The beaver saw us and responded with a short get-away swim followed by a big slap of his tail as he warned other beavers of our presence. We than had a muskrat swim ahead of us for quite a distance. Than we saw a large flock of mallards ahead of our canoe in Williams bay. Five loons were gathered in Bushnell’s bay and seemed to be in some kind of loon conference, dancing on the water and talking loon talk with each other. They were then joined by a sixth loon whom appeared to fly in from Little Clam Lake and continued their conference in front of our canoe and silhouetted in the setting sun. We did not see our friends the four otter that frequent our bay, but felt good about our nature sightings that evening. There is something very soothing about seeing nature in action.

“The real significance of wilderness is a cultural matter. It is far more than hunting, fishing, hiking, camping or canoeing; it has to do with the human spirit.” Sigurd F. Olson, Northwood’s conservationist

“Wilderness is an idea as much as a place, with modern man learning to pass like a shadow of a cloud across what he did not make and cannot improve.” Author: Gilbert Grosvernor (1875-1966).

“Leave it as it is, you cannot improve it. The ages have been at work on it and man can only mar it. What you can do is keep it for your children your children’s children, and for all who come after you” Author: President T. Roosevelt (1858 -1919)

“For generations, city-weary folk from across the Midwest and beyond have sought the refuge of a glassy Northwood’s lake or rustic campsite. But today, with nearly 40 million people within a day’s drive of the Northwoods, we are quickly losing some of the region’s most special places”. Author: Land & People Magazine- The Trust for Public Land-Spring 2005 Issue

Note: The Trust for Public Land is taking positive steps to buy up parcels of private land within the national forest and preserve it as public forest land for everyone to enjoy.

West Texas Boots

West Texas Boots tell a Story

The fastest way to drive from Atlanta to San Diego is to go through Texas and that is what we did. In this 2200-mile drive, almost 900 miles was in the State of Texas. 450 of those miles were in West Texas. The town of Odessa is the dividing line between East and West Texas. We passed thru Odessa at 80 miles an hour (the speed limit in that part of the State) around early afternoon with the objective of reaching the small West Texas town of Van Horn that night. I noticed one of the largest sunsets I have ever seen and it seemed to last for at least 3 hours as we proceeded west on interstate 20. The whole Western sky was crimson red and as the time ticked away its vastness also slowly diminished until the sun settled below the horizon. The West Texas countryside reminded me of the movie, “No Country for Old Men” and I expected to see

Sheriff Tommy Lee Jones appear in the endless sagebrush at any moment.

We holed up that evening in a hotel in Van Horn, Texas, which is close to the New Mexico border. The next morning I was sitting at the hotel breakfast area when the boots appeared. I looked over at the table next to me and saw two gentlemen talking earnestly to each other in perfect English. They were neatly dressed in casual business attire, but had on leather cowboy boots, which appeared to have just completed a long hike through some very rough terrain. They were scuffed up and well used. I was intrigued by this and further intrigued when they were joined by a third man who just drove up with a new ford 150 dual cab covered with dust from the local Guadalupe mountain range. Upon his arrival at their table, the two gentlemen immediately switched to what appeared to be perfect Spanish. Undoubtedly, this late arriving gentlemen only spoke Spanish. He also was well dressed and wore the same well-used leather cowboy boots. My imagination went rampant and I envisioned these gentlemen getting ready to go after big game in the neighboring valleys and hills, or were they planning their next drug movement across the nearby Mexican border or possibly were they planning their next illegal movement of people? Also, they could have been under-cover US border agents meeting an informant? Their attire did not stimulate these imaginary possibilities, but their scuffed up and well-worn boots more than stimulated these possible scenarios.

The jest of this story is that when you are road - weary your mind may wander and different scenarios may be dreamed up over different situations. I guess West Texas is for younger people, as a few years back I would have taken this experience in stride and never even dreamt of creating such scenarios. Furthermore, and more importantly, these boots that I would love to put myself into to solve this self-imposed mystery are neither too large nor too small for me. They are size “too young” and don’t fit me anymore. Ah, the pleasures of growing old.

Authors’ note: To release these imaginary images I had to reduce this experience to writing during our remaining trip to San Diego. Tonight, we are booked into a motel in Yuma, Arizona. Visions are already coming into my head of the “Last Train to Yuma”. Yuma where the infamous great Wild West Territorial prison existed in the 1800’s. Stay tuned for another possible story that this visit may stimulate. Get ready to hit the “delete key” as it may be coming your way.