We unwittingly saved the best for almost last in our quest to bicycle the entire Mesabi Trail in northern Minnesota. After completing this latest section, Russ and I have biked all but two parts of this 165-mile paved trail. By “best,” I mean it was the smoothest, most scenic section with some fun rolling hills.
We departed Grand Rapids from the trailhead, which is off a parking lot at the Itasca County Fairgrounds. On this unseasonably warm fall day, golden leaves crunched under our tires and fell from the trees in slanting sunlight as we passed. The only downside were a few mildly painful run-ins with Asian ladybeetles that had the misfortune to meet their doom as we whizzed into them.
Round trip, this section is between 14.5-16 miles, depending on your mapping ap. We passed iron ore mine tailings ponds and crossed the Prairie River on a wooden bridge. We only ran into one patch of bumps and that was in the town of Coleraine. Most of the trail is in the woods, but it does parallel a highway for a bit.
Lots of other people were also enjoying the trail on what could be the last warm day of the year. The trailhead where we turned around in Bovey features a bench that has a design cut into the back that pays homage to Minnesota’s state photo, which was taken in 1918 or 1920 by photographer Eric Enstrom, who had a studio in that city. It shows an elderly man bowing his head in thanks over a meager meal of bread and soup.
Minnesota’s State Photo, “Grace”
Enstrom titled the image “Grace” and intended it to represent survival, thankfulness, and faith in the face of hardship. The photo graced the home of my grandparents and many other places. One interesting fact is that the model for the photo was a salesman who just happened to be passing through when Enstrom asked him to pose. The rest is history!
The two sections of the trail we have left run from Bovey to Calumet and one new stretch near Ely. Temps have dipped into the 40s and 50s, which is too cold for me to bike, so those will have to wait until spring.
Prairie River
I haven’t written about every section we biked, only the memorable ones. For more information, see my other stories about the trail:
I named this place Listening Point because only when one comes to listen, only when one is aware and still, can things be seen and heard. Everyone has a listening point somewhere. It does not have to be in the north or close to the wilderness, but some place of quiet where the universe can be contemplated with awe. — Sigurd Olson, Listening Point
Those of you who have read my blog for a while may recall a quote or two from one of my favorite nature writers and conservationists, Sigurd Olson. He lived a couple of hours north of me in Ely, Minnesota. I never met him (he died while out snowshoeing in 1982 when I was in college), but over the years I’ve read most of his books and I admire his way with words and his way of being in the wilderness.
Olson’s home and cabin have been preserved by The Listening Point Foundation. It was formed to preserve his legacy and to advance his wilderness philosophy. During summer, they offer tours of Olson’s cabin and house.
One day last month, Russ and I booked a tour and meandered up to Ely with some visiting friends. It was a drizzly fall day, but that didn’t stop our excitement at finally seeing the places that helped shape Olson’s books.
The man himself as a cutout character in his Ely home.
We met as a small group for the tour of Sig’s cabin at Listening Point just off the highway and caravaned into the cabin parking lot. Our guide was a colleague of Olson’s from when he taught at Vermillion Community College. He gave us an orientation and some background information while standing in the lot, then we hiked a short trail to the cabin, passing Sig’s handcrafted sauna along the way.
You would think the cabin would be on the rocky tip of the point that juts out into Burntside Lake. Instead, it sits sheltered behind a huge boulder dropped by the glacier eons ago, with views of the bay. Sig wrote about his decision to locate the cabin in that spot in his book, Listening Point. Essentially, he wanted the protection and stability of that site, and to preserve the end of the point for contemplation, not living.
The one-story, one-room cabin was originally two stories. It was located elsewhere and moved to the site. There’s no indoor plumbing, only an outhouse. A fieldstone fireplace graces one side of the room. There’s a table for eating and two single beds for Olson and his wife, Elizabeth.
Listening Point
I was surprised to learn that Olson did not write at the cabin. He saved that for his backyard writing shack at his Ely house. You’d think the cabin would be the perfect place for that! Instead, he used it to gain experiences that he could write about.
After we toured the cabin, which is on the National Register of Historic Places, we wandered out to the point. A breeze whispered through the white pines, and I could almost hear the spirits. A low log bench sits atop a rock that offers a good view of the lake. Below it, a bronze plaque commemorates Olson.
We spent many minutes soaking in the peace. Soon, it was time to go. Although we didn’t sign up for it, our guide invited us to visit Olson’s house since he was going there to lead another tour, anyway. We readily agreed!
Ely was about a 20-minute drive away. We parked near a modest gray house with white trim. Upon entering, we were struck by how civilized the house was compared to Sig’s cabin. No wonder he needed a second place to get away. The kitchen has been remodeled since Sig’s time, but the rest of the place is much the same.
The living room serves as an informal museum to Sig’s life and accomplishments. The dining room looks out on his writing shack.
Sigurd Olson’s writing shack in Ely, MN.
We toured the shack, which is also on the National Register of Historic Places. In addition to being a writer and conservationist, Sig was a naturalist. Besides a typewriter and books, the shack is filled with finds from his wilderness travels. Rocks and animal bones line almost every available surface.
We came away with greater understanding and appreciation for this noted author and the land where he lived. We had some time to kill, so after lunch at the Evergreen Restaurant (highly recommended!), we visited the International Wolf Center. I’d been to the center a couple of times (most notably when I was doing research my Eye of the Wolf novel), but it had been many years, so I was interested to see their new educational exhibits and the new wolves in the captive pack.
Now, wolf-lovers, don’t get all up in arms about the term captive. The wolves in this pack have plenty of room to roam, and they aren’t taken from the wild. They function as ambassadors for their species, helping people learn about and appreciate wolves.
During a naturalist program about wolves, we watched in awe as several pack members appeared like ghosts out of the woods. We could see them through the large observation windows. That was truly magical!
Rowan, a member of the wolf pack at the International Wolf Center
We returned home from Ely feeling peaceful and just a bit wilder, with a strange impulse to howl on the next full moon. 😊
A ship passes through Duluth’s ship canal and under the Aerial Lift Bridge.
One beautiful summer evening about a decade ago when my goldendoodle Buddy was still alive, I took him on a walk in Canal Park, Duluth’s tourist spot. Sometimes it’s fun to be a tourist in your own town. People come from all over the country to watch the Lakers and Salties (Great Lakes and ocean-going ships) enter the harbor through the parallel concrete structures that form the shipping canal. The ships then pass under the famous Aerial Lift Bridge, which by now has lifted the roadway bottom span. The bridge operator greets the ship with a series of horn blasts. The ships answer, and any crowds gathered at the canal wave and cheer.
As I recall, we had walked under the lift bridge and were near the end of the canal on the harbor side. I thought it would be fun for Buddy to see the water over the wall. As it was, his view within the four-foot-high walls was just concrete and other people. I patted the foot-wide top of the canal wall with my hand in a gesture I THOUGHT would encourage Buddy to stand on his hind legs and put his front legs on the top of the wall so he could see over.
Buddy, the door-to-door salesman. Photo by Amanda Dahl-Sales.
But Buddy, 85 pounds of red goofy smartness, SPRUNG to the top of the wall! In total shock, I watched as he suddenly realized there was nothing but a deep drop into the water on the other side. Buddy’s toenails scratched the concrete in a mad scramble, and I probably pulled on his leash.
Thankfully, he fell backward onto the concrete instead of forward into the canal. In total shock, I comforted him and apologized over and over. Luckily, nobody else was nearby so I didn’t feel too much like a spectacle.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think he would jump atop the wall. I knew he was agile, but I didn’t know he was that agile! I shudder to think of what would have happened if he’d fallen into the canal. Although there are ladders placed periodically along the walls, there’s no way I could have lifted him back up.
A few weeks after our adventure, I saw a newspaper account of someone whose dog did end up in the canal. The person climbed down the ladder and held onto their dog until the Coast Guard could rescue them. That could have been us!
Although shaken, Buddy soon forgave me and forgot his close call. We walked back to the car on wobbly legs. You can bet that I never patted the tops of any other walls after that!
In a small town on Minnesota’s Iron Range, a boy and his friend scooter along the sidewalk outside a restaurant. One boy mentions he needs to use the bathroom and begins to head toward a nearby park with public restrooms. The other boy, heavyset and wearing a red T-shirt, enters the restaurant’s fenced yard and approaches a large stone with a sword sticking out of it.
“You trying that again? You’ll never do it!” says the Bathroom Boy, continuing on his way.
Red T-shirt Boy crouches and tugs on the sword, pulling with all his might.
Alas, the sword does not budge. Red T-shirt Boy will not become the future King of England. But he can dream, can’t he?
As you may have guessed by now, the restaurant that features the Excalibur sword is not your normal restaurant. On the National Register of Historic Places, Ravenstone Abbey in Coleraine is the stuff of Medieval dreams. A pub/restaurant, coffee shop/bistro, and axe-throwing dungeon are housed in a painstakingly renovated 1908-era Methodist Episcopal Church/YMCA.
The building served as a church until 1976, when it was abandoned and fell into disrepair. The windows were boarded up, water leaked through holes in the roof, and animals took up residence.
Once they saw it by chance in 2021, future owners Jozsef and Sue Palavics fell in love with the derelict building and its towering stone walls (made from local stone) and stained-glass windows. By 2024, as their website says, they created “a place where history meets modernity, where the old-world charm of a medieval castle blends seamlessly with the excitement of a contemporary event venue.”
Russ and I meandered up to Coleraine one evening for supper at the abbey. As we sat at our table next to one of the original stone walls, we appreciated the oil lamp on the table, which was held by a small knight figurine in shining armor.
The Queens Salad
I ordered The Queens Salad, which featured mixed greens, mandarin oranges, red onion, feta cheese, pecans, and dried cranberries with a poppyseed dressing. Russ ordered The Kings Salad, which featured romaine lettuce topped with buffalo chicken, diced tomatoes, cheddar cheese, bacon, red onions, and croutons with a buffalo ranch dressing.
Both were reasonably priced and delicious! I also ordered a refreshing gin gimlet. The service was excellent, and our waiter helped me navigate my food intolerances (wheat/corn) to find something I could eat.
The Axehole Dungeon
Once finished, we peeked into the Axehole Dungeon. Nobody was throwing any axes at the time, but it looked like fun. We did not partake, but are keeping the experience in mind if we take guests there someday.
The Buttery Pub
As we left, Russ sat in the giant wooden “throne” in the entryway for a photo op. We walked to our car, noting some young girl urchins playing along the side of the building. I loved that the local children felt welcome there.
If you ever find yourself in northern Minnesota, indulge the imaginative child in you and check out Ravenstone Abbey! Maybe throw an axe or two while you’re there. (As per usual, I was not paid to say this.) 😊
My story, which originally came from this blog, was recently published in a local magazine called Northern Wilds. The story is about “That Time I Lost a Canoe in the Boundary Waters.” The magazine is on local (northern MN) newsstands now, but if you’re not from around here, you can read the original story here. This story, which took place in 2003 with my BFF Sharon and her children (and mine), also appeared in my blog-memoir book, Meander North. The Wilderness teaches me a lesson in it.
The Northern Wilds editor has been gracious enough to agree to publish some of my blog posts in her magazine when she needs stories. In this June issue, I was also interviewed by writer Victoria Smith for her story about, “Camping with Canine Friends.” You’ll see photos of my dearly departed goldendoodle, Buddy, and tips about how to successfully camp with your dog.
In case you’re wondering, I still miss my Buddy greatly, but I’m not ready to get another dog. I have too much meandering left to do, and that is easier without having to pay kennel fees for the dog left behind. Perhaps once I/we curtail our traveling, we’ll be open to loving another pet.
A trillium along the Munger Trail outside of Duluth, Minn.
First, I ‘d like to say hello and thank you to all the new subscribers to “Marie’s Meanderings.” Yesterday, I received an email from Word Press saying that my “Remarkably Bright Creatures” movie review was chosen to be freshly pressed. This increased exposure almost tripled my views, and I’ve been busy responding to comments and offering reciprocal views of visitor sites.
In my 13 years of blogging, this is a first. Although Word Press did post one of my stories on Pinterest years ago, and it continues to receive lots of views even today.
This (delightfully) unexpected work when I’d normally be languishing in retirement has (ironically) thrown off my blog posting plans. I was going to write about my maiden voyages on my new ebike. Perhaps I’ll go into more depth about that later, but the condensed version is that I have mixed feelings. In some ways, the ebike makes biking too easy. I wish it had a lower assist setting — something between 0 and 1 (it goes up to 5). But, in other ways, I love the new bike because it makes pedaling up steep hills (of which there are many in Duluth) a breeze.
Long-distance cycling maniac Russ likes it because he doesn’t have to worry about me keeping up with him. Now, if only there were electronic cross-country skis he could use, I wouldn’t need to wait for him and we’d be equal! 🙂
I’ve been testing the bike on the paved Munger Trail and the gravel DWP Trail outside of town. It’s performed well on both. It’s trillium season, and the white and pink flowers are blooming in huge swaths in the forests along both trails. I stopped long enough to snap this image with my phone.
It’s wonderful to be recognized for my blog, which is a labor of love. I think every blogger deserves this, and I hope your turn comes around soon.
Dear readers, you may recall that Russ and I have a penchant for fine dining. When we travel, we try to hit at least one gourmet restaurant per trip. Featured on this blog in recent years have been The Rhubarb Restaurant in Edinburgh (with its rhubarb-themed drinks and a Châteaubriand Angus steak platter for two), The Wharf on Grand Cayman (with lobster, and you can feed the shells to awaiting tarpon fish off the dock), the Mariposa in Sedona (with juniper cocktails and mejillones con chorizo, a mussel and sausage appetizer), the Von Trapp Family Lodge in Stowe (with a lingonberry spritz and quail/venison dinner), and the Eiffel Tower Restaurant in Las Vegas (with its grand Marnier souffle), to name a few.
More recently, our dining experiences have literally taken a dive. We’ve been exploring the cheapest (but tastiest) places we can find. Whether this shift is because we’re both retired and on fixed incomes or simply inspired by the fun we had last year at the Czech Grill in Grand Cayman—where we wrote on the walls and enjoyed our sixth wedding anniversary with ribs, potato salad, a tabby cat, and a handsome rooster—the change is noticeable.
We’ve experienced several memorable meals this past year, dining in northern Minnesota/Wisconsin dives. Our definition of a dive is a place where we can buy dinner for two for $40 or less. Many times, this even includes adult beverages and the tip! We have friends who also love dives, and they’ve introduced us to a few.
With that in mind, here are six of our favorites, listed in no particular order. Each offers its own unique charm, and we’d happily return depending on our mood.
The Alborn Tavern is a family-owned, small-town restaurant and bar in northern Minnesota. If you like a place with crumbling vinyl seat covers, pool tables, dart boards, and meat raffles, this is the place for you! BTW, a meat raffle is a community fundraiser where people buy tickets for the chance to win packages of meat, usually steaks, roasts, and bacon.
Art on the door of the El Toro Lounge.
The El Toro Lounge and Wilbert Café is a historic stopping place and local watering hole along the highway that leads to Canada. It used to be THE place to stop when Greyhound bus routes ran between the Iron Range and the rest of Minnesota. Now, it mainly serves locals, anglers, and snowmobilers. Diners can get breakfast all day most days of the week. There are also bingo nights and Friday fish fries. We celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary in the lounge.
Near the El Toro is the Dawghouse in Canyon, Minnesota. The renovated restaurant has a more modern feel than the Wilbert Café, plus there’s a large and lovely event venue suitable for hosting a wedding reception or party. There are even customized racks so that snowmobilers can hang their helmets and gear while they eat, and an outdoor patio that’s dog-friendly.
Diners order dinner at Gordy’s Hi-Hat.
Gordy’s Hi-Hat in Cloquet, Minnesota, is a family-owned burger joint that’s only a few years older than me. It’s well known for stellar customer service and a family atmosphere. Guy Fieri, with the Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives television show, has even dined there. If you’re more into salads and coffee, stop next door at their Warming House. We celebrated my recent birthday at the Hi-Hat with a Swiss-and-mushroom burger, fries, and a hot fudge malt. I highly recommend the malt!
The Anchor Bar in Superior, Wisconsin, wins “best burger” almost every year in local competitions. Their burgers are homemade, cheap, and good. The fries are plentiful. But what’s most notable is the maritime décor. Ship ropes hang from the ceiling, sailing books line the shelves, ore boat photos grace the walls. It’s also been featured on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives. The clientele is mixed, from doctors to longshoremen, from college students to truckers. The cashew burger is my fave. Look for the ship’s anchor outside the door.
The aftermath of a meal at the Anchor Bar.
Tired of burgers? Try the India Palace in downtown Duluth. It offers a plethora of Indian food options with levels of heat friendly to Minnesotan palates. There are also vegetarian options. It’s known for tandoori chicken and curry dishes. The service was very good.
True to this trend, we plan to spend our seventh anniversary this week at another local dive. If it’s any good, I’m sure you’ll be hearing about it!
Please feel free to share a link to your favorite dive in the comments and tell us where it’s located!
Lately, I’ve been feeling like the title of this post. I haven’t gone on any special photo outings. Maybe winter has something to do with it. It’s hard to take photos with gloves on and coldly painful to take photos with them off, even for a few minutes.
BUT, I managed to snap a few when we were at our cabin last week. The weather was a crazy mix. Rain came first. After it stopped, the tree branches were coated with gleaming necklaces of raindrops. I commented to Russ that if I were a real photographer, I’d be out there with my camera, capturing the magic.
Nope. I was too lazy. Then came another bout of rain, which turned into dime-sized hailstones. We watched them fall from under the safety of our cabin’s metal roof. The hail stopped, and then a bit of snow drifted from the sky. It added a layer of white to the ice on our lake. The ice had begun to melt, especially around the edges, but was in no danger of disappearing any time soon.
The next weather treat on this crazy day was sunshine. The air temperature shot up from the 30s to near 50 degrees F. The temperature difference between the lake ice and the air formed a mist that added an air of mystery to the landscape.
This was too cool to miss. Even though we were in the middle of something, I apologized to Russ for the interruption, tugged on my coat and rubber boots (too lazy to tie the laces on my other boots), and slogged outside with my camera. I took the shots you see here.
After I returned inside and we ate supper, we watched a television show as the sun began to set. I happened to look away from the TV for a moment and noticed the mist enlarging and glowing in the sunset. Too lazy to venture outdoors again, I just turned around on the couch and snapped the last image in this post out our deck window. (I love how there’s a little spot of blue sky in it near the top.)
Reflecting on that day, I realize that sometimes being “lazy” simply means finding beauty in the moments right in front of us. While I might not have energetically chased every shot or braved the cold for hours, I still found magic through my lens—whether it was from the warmth of my cabin or the comfort of my couch. These small acts of noticing and appreciating remind me that inspiration doesn’t always require grand effort; sometimes, it’s enough to simply be present and open to what unfolds.
We bought nine white tulips last week to bring a bit of spring into the house. About a foot of snow still lies on the ground here in northern Minnesota, but the increasing sunshine has us impatient for winter to leave.
Once we brought them home and arranged them in a vase, I noticed that the tulip flowers were hiding inside their green leaf sheaths like the heads of shy turtles. But after a few days, they began to grow and emerge. One had a tinge of red to it, so I was curious to see what it would look like as the flower opened more. The fresh bouquet looked gorgeous as big white and fluffy snowflakes fell outside. Outdoors, spring had hidden its face once more.
A few more days later, the flower fully opened, and I was surprised to see that half of one petal was a deep ruby red. I was expecting an inner ring of red or something—not this. I asked my friends if they’d ever seen anything like that. None had, but some said we must be lucky, that it was like finding a four-leaf clover.
I turned to the ever-useful internet and discovered that this phenomenon is called sectorial chimera. Sectorial means that only one section of the flower is affected. Chimera means changeable or mixed. In scientific terms, it means that the flower has a mix of genetic tissues. My tulip was a white tulip that also contained red tulip genes. For some reason, the redness was expressed in a single petal. In a way, my friend was correct. Like a four-leafed-clover, this tulip was a unique genetic mutation.
There’s some info also on the internet that symbolically, the white flower represents purity and peace, and the red petal, a streak of hidden passion. “Together, they convey a deep emotional connection and the beauty of love in all its forms.”
I just wanted a sense of spring but received so much more from a simple grocery store bouquet!
