Thanks to a gargantuan sunspot group 15 times the size of Earth, we on Earth in northern climes were treated to a spectacular aurora borealis display last night.
The evening began with a thunder shower, which led to a picturesque sunset, which was capped off by the northern lights display.
I ran around with my camera, documenting everything at our cabin in northern Minnesota. I had tried before to photograph the sky at night with little luck. But this time, it worked! My camera captured even more colors than were visible to the “naked” eye.
As I wandered on gravel roads in the middle of nowhere with eyes raised to the eternal mystery of the dancing sky, our resident loons began to call. Spring peepers croaked and a distant train whistle blew. We are so fortunate to live in these times, in this place.
When last we met, Russ and I were in Grand Marais along the shores of Lake Superior for an afternoon photo reception at their local health facility. We decided to stay overnight after the reception and take a little photo expedition the next morning to a scenic spot on the harbor.
As we ate supper at the Gunflint Tavern, I came up with the bright idea to do a reconnaissance mission to the spot to prepare for the next day’s shot. I hadn’t been to Artist’s Point in several years and wanted a refresher. The sun was still up so we’d be able to see okay to walk along the break walls and rocky coast.
I must admit that I had a glass of wine with supper and then for dessert, a brandy old fashioned cocktail. Although the food at the tavern was lovely, that cocktail was truly memorable! A brandy old fashioned is made with muddled (smashed) maraschino cherries and orange slices. (For a photo, see this post.)
I don’t know what kind of cherries the tavern used, but they took the drink to a whole new level! They were dark maroon and tasted divine. I know they weren’t Amaro-soaked cherries because I’ve had those before. I wish I had asked our waitress what they were, but I didn’t.
Thus fortified, and wearing high-heeled boots, I ventured with Russ to the harbor. I didn’t even have my Nikon along (that was back at our inn), only my cell phone.
I clambered up on the break wall, but Russ refused. He’d had a drink with dinner, too, and didn’t trust his balance enough to join me. I, however, found that my dessert made me not really care that I was up on a rocky wall in high heels. Plus, the views! I immediately became inspired and started snapping away on my phone, wandering this way and that for the best views.
What was intended as a simple reconnaissance turned into a photo shoot in its own right. Here’s a gallery of my results.
I clambered off with wall none the worse for wear and we headed to our inn for a rousing card game. We slumbered until Civil Dawn – that time just before the sun rises. In our case, that was 5:30 a.m., much earlier than we usually wake.
We quickly dressed in gear appropriate for temperatures in the mid-40s. I gathered my tripod and camera and we drove down the hill a short way to Artist’s Point. The area is named for its picturesque views. Painters can often be found there.
The sky over Lake Superior began turning a light orange as the sun prepared to make its appearance. Songbirds were singing, mallards quacking. Shorebirds flitted from rock to rock in front of me on the beach. The air was calm.
The sun wasn’t rising close to the island where I hoped it would be, so I set up my tripod on the beach and started taking photos. As the sunrise progressed, I found some large rocks and old wooden pilings that made for an interesting foreground. I crouched for the best angle.
I stepped away from my camera a few times to enjoy the sunrise in its own right, without a viewfinder in front of it.
Then I made my way out to the point and the break wall. Russ stayed back again. By this time, the sun climbed higher, but it was too bright for a good photo against the island. Instead, I focused my efforts in the opposite direction — on the lighthouse in the harbor, which was lit by the reflection of the rising sun. As I shot, a gray fishing boat left for the deeps of the lake with a raucous chorus of gulls following in hopes of sharing the bounty to come.
As I was finishing, I noticed a man off to the side on the harbor shore. Was he a photographer, too? Was he seeing something I wasn’t? (Every photographer’s nightmare!)
Then I noticed he wasn’t holding a camera, but a fishing rod. Just an angler out catching breakfast before work.
My cold fingers told me it was time to stop taking photos, so I clambered off the wall and met up with Russ. We returned to our cozy inn, peaceful, inspired. Happy.
You may recall that a few weeks ago I left my “photo babies” at a medical facility in Grand Marais, Minnesota, along the shores of Lake Superior. (For a refresher, read this post.)
Russ and I were able to visit my babies earlier this week at an afternoon reception for the photographers and artists whose works are featured on the walls of the facility. I was excited to visit my images and see where they were hung. They seemed well cared for and happy in their new surroundings. My four large images were together on one wall and the other smaller ones lined a different wall farther down the hallway.
For a while, I stood near my images, a fly on the wall listening to peoples’ comments about my photos. Hearing their compliments and theories was fun. Meeting members of the medical facility board and the other artists was an added benefit.
This was my first reception, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. We struck up conversations with several photographers who proudly took us on hallway tours of their works. There were a couple ladies from Duluth who I hadn’t met before.
When I was in the reception room enjoying snacks and a PowerPoint show of the images, several reception-goers approached me, wanting an explanation of how I took one of my photos. We walked back to where the large images hung and stopped in front of “Catching a Wave.”
Before I told the three ladies how I got the shot of a wave splashing off a rock on Madeline Island in Lake Superior, I wanted to hear their theories. All of them thought I used a tripod and that I took multiple shots.
Surprise crossed their faces when I told them I just sat on a rock with my feet dangling over the water and hand-held my Nikon. I took the image when I was on the island for my first-ever photography class. This image was from a class outing in a park along the lakeshore where we roamed. I thought it would be fun to try and “catch a wave” with my camera.
As I sat on the rock, I pushed the shutter in the moments after a wave hit the rock and sprayed. I only took a couple of shots, not even bothering to look at what I had in the field because it was hard to see my playback viewer in the sunshine. Instead, I hiked down the trail to the next viewshed.
But when I returned to my room after our class outing, I knew something was different with the rock splash photos when I scrolled through them on my camera. “What the heck?” I recall saying to myself. My wonder turned to pleasure after I downloaded the images to my computer and took a closer look. I’d caught the wave perfectly in two of them!
The ladies at the show pointed out a couple things about the photo that I hadn’t noticed before, plus some patterns in my other photos that I had not seen. Then we walked down the hall to view their images and they described the trials and tribulations involved in taking their shots.
Once the reception was over, Russ and I headed out to a local restaurant for supper. We planned to stay overnight and wake at dawn the next morning so that I could have a photo outing at a scenic spot on the town’s harbor before we left for the two-hour drive home. We may have been there for the photo reception, but why not turn it into a photo expedition, too?
As it turns out, that was a capital idea! I’ll share those images in my next post, but here’s a sneak peek:
Artist’s Point Sunrise, Grand Marais, Minnesota. Image by Marie Zhuikov
To see a slide show of the other photos I took during my Madeline Island photography class, please visit this post. If you’re interested in purchasing “Catching a Wave,” it’s available on canvas (24” x 36”) for $150. Since I took the class and that image as part of my day job, profits will be donated to the Wisconsin Sea Grant Program, which provides research and education programs about lakes Superior and Michigan. To see my other work, please visit my photography webpage.
In my workaday world where I drive around, sit at my desk, eat, and sometimes sleep, I often run across photo opportunities that I don’t have the time or energy to pursue. I’ll be driving down Duluth’s hillside and see the sun shining in an interesting pattern on Lake Superior, but I have a work meeting to get to, so don’t have time to stop. Or, I’ll be walking into the grocery store and there’s a spectacular sunset but I’m on mission, so bye-bye sunset. Or, darn, I don’t have my fancy camera with me, just my cell phone, so I won’t take the shot.
Often at these times, I’ll sadly joke with myself, saying, “If I were a real photographer, I’d find a way to take that photo.” I can’t count how many times I’ve thought that over the years. My hope is that once I retire, I’ll have more time to follow up on these photo opportunities, but that’s about a year off.
This morning at our cabin, one of those moments happened again. I’d been awake in bed since 5:30 a.m. It was now an hour later, and sleep was not returning. From bed, I could see the lake, its far shore lit golden by the rising sun, water as smooth as glass with winter’s ice only recently melted.
Lying there, I thought, “If I were a real photographer I’d get outside and take that photo.” But I was cozy and drowsy. Outside, it was probably only 40 degrees.
But the spectacular shoreline lighting was only going to last a little while. It would be a shame to miss this opportunity. All I needed to do was get out of bed . . .
Beside me, Russ slumbered peacefully. I didn’t want any movements I might make to wake him . . .
Then, I thought about what fun it would be to actually be a real photographer this morning. Sure, I only had my cell phone, but that was better than nothing.
I hopped out of bed, donned my light blue fuzzy bathrobe, grabbed my phone, and jumped into my big Sorrel boots. As I headed outside, I could see the light fading from one section of the far shore. It wouldn’t be long before the bare trees were a drab brown once again across the whole thing.
As I neared our small beach, a duck farther down the lake took off in startled flight. That might have had something to do with it seeing a blue monstrosity emerge on shore!
I raised my phone and fired off a few shots, walking along the shoreline to gain a better vantage. The sun lingered for a few more minutes, enough time to take a few good images. I especially liked one with some reeds in the foreground.
Phone lowered, I stood for a while, drinking in the view directly with my eyes. All was still and quiet.
I turned to walk back the few yards it would take to get to the cabin. After a couple steps, I was stopped by the sound of something crashing through underbrush in the neighbor’s yard. I recognized two dogs, Kamikaze spaniels, as I like to think of them, headed right toward me! One sported black spots, the other brownish-red.
I knew from previous encounters with their master on the road, the dogs running beside his ATV for exercise, that they were nice dogs with a lot of energy. Whenever they pass a driveway, they head down it, circle the yard with noses to the ground and meet their master back on the road.
Still, to ensure they were forewarned of my presence, I greeted them with, “Hi dogs, hi dogs!”
Unlike the duck, the dogs took no notice of me and sped right past. One rounded the far corner of the cabin and headed back to the road, while the other took a detour around our boathouse and then ran through the forest, rejoining its buddy.
In all, I was only outside this morning for a few minutes, but a lot happened. As I opened the cabin door, I felt a bit more like a real photographer.
The Kom-on-Inn in West Duluth. Image courtesy of Jennifer Webb, University of Minnesota Duluth
I recently worked in a bar. Not as a bartender, though. I didn’t even drink! I was there to view art and explore how it relates to community and the restoration of the St. Louis River, which flows along the border of Minnesota and northwest Wisconsin. You can view my resulting story on Wisconsin Sea Grant’s “Unsalted” blog here.
“The Lift” host Baihly Warfield interviews me about my blog-based book.
I was interviewed on local TV about my blog memoir, “Meander North,” the other day. It was a live interview, so was rather nerve-wracking. I’m not complaining, though! I appreciate every bit of free publicity and the interview seemed to go well. I had another live interview for work a few weeks beforehand, so I had some practice. You can watch the hoopla here.
For more information about my book, please visit my website.
About a week ago, we drove north along the shore of Lake Superior to Grand Marais, Minnesota. We carried a precious cargo: a dozen landscape images I took, printed out on canvas, metal and paper. They had been accepted for my first public exhibit at a local health facility in the town.
I was excited by this opportunity to share my hobby with an audience. Once we arrived, we were met by the organizer who helped us unload. He also showed us where the images would be hung. We left my works with him and headed home on our two-hour drive.
After a half-hour cruising past pine trees along the rugged landscape of Lake Superior, I began feeling like I’d left something important behind me in Grand Marais. The feeling nagged until I acknowledged it and searched my psyche for its source.
One of the babies I left in Grand Marais, MN. This is Oberg Lake in northern Minnesota.
It didn’t take long for me to realize the important things I left behind were my photos! The feeling was similar to when I dropped both of my children off at college. I turned to Russ and said, “My babies! We left my babies back there!”
He looked at me quizzically, but Russ is a quick study and soon smiled.
I did not expect that feeling. I didn’t realize I was so attached to the images, many of which have hung in my home for several months. It’s not that I don’t trust the exhibitor, it’s more I feel like I’ve left part of me in Grand Marais. Of course, the feeling isn’t as strong as what I have for my human babies, but it kept coming back over the course of the next few days. Russ got used to hearing me blurt sporadically, “My babies, I miss my babies!”
As with dropping my children off to college, I hope this is a one-time thing that will get better with time. But it’s made me wonder if other photographers experience this when they let their images out of their sight. I’d appreciate hearing any impressions you wish to share.
“The world today is sick to its thin blood for lack of elemental things, for fire before the hands, for water welling from the earth, for air, for the dear earth itself underfoot. In my world of rock and water these elemental presences lived and had their being, and under their arch there moved an incomparable pageant of nature and the year.”
― Slightly modified quote from Henry Beston,The Outermost House
One of the Croftville Cottages near Grand Marais, MN
When Russ and I made reservations for a cabin on the shores of Lake Superior months ago, we envisioned a weekend getaway filled with cross-country skiing and listening to the roar of waves.
Well, we experienced only one of those things. Thanks to El Nino we have NO SNOW in northern Minnesota, or at least very little. We have not been skiing ONCE this season.
The living room of our cozy cottage.
I thought I was cross-county-ski starved when I wrote this post in 2014, but that was nothing compared to what I’m feeling now! If it gets much worse, I might have to pay to ski on artificial snow at our local ski area.
So, we had to cast around for other things to do during our stay in Croftville and Grand Marais, MN. While researching, I discovered that Grand Marais is having a month-long hygge festival. What is “hygge” you ask? It’s pronounced hoo-gah and is a Danish word that means “creating a warm atmosphere and enjoying the good things in life with good people.” In fewer words, it means “cozy.” The events included a lodge fireplace tour, art shows, and saunas.
That sounded good to us, so off we went. We stayed at Croftville Cottages, which is just outside Grand Marais. Besides a main building with lovely condo-like apartments (where I’ve stayed for work) they offer three cottages on the lakeshore. Ours had two bedrooms and a full kitchen, plus two gas stoves for heat. We fell asleep to the roar of a gray and foamy Lake Superior crashing onto the black rocks.
The log-powered sauna at Thomsonite Inn.
We brought our own food along, so after a leisurely breakfast at the cabin, we headed into town to visit bookstores and chocolate shops.
Laden with books and maple truffles, we returned to the cabin for lunch and then drove a few miles to the Thomsonite Inn for a free sauna, courtesy of the Hygge Festival. I had been in touch with the inn beforehand via email to ensure that we didn’t need a reservation, and they said we could just show up.
When we arrived at the inn, the office was closed. Never having been there before, we weren’t sure where the sauna was located. But we found it after referring to a map posted near the office. A short walk down a trail toward the lake led us to the sauna, which was made from a shipping container and it sported a wood fireplace.
A group of twenty-somethings were exiting just as we arrived. Their bodies steamed as they toweled off in the twenty-eight-degree breeze. They said that our timing was perfect and that we’d have the sauna to ourselves.
The sauna offered a view of Lake Superior.
Russ and I looked for a changing room, but there was none. One of the young women said she just walked into a clump of nearby trees to change. Hmph! And did I mention that it was twenty-eight degrees outside??
We ended up changing behind the sauna. The ground was frozen, so I laid my winter coat down and changed atop it, wearing socks for the short trip to the sauna door, taking them off before I went inside. Although changing into our swimsuits outdoors was chilly, we had some hygge to look forward to!
The “youngsters” had added a log to the fire when the left, so the sauna was warm and toasty. For me, it was a bit too toasty. I had to step out every few minutes to cool off before going back inside. A large window looked out at Lake Superior, which had calmed during the night.
When we emerged, steaming, we felt lighter, somehow – both emotionally and physically.
A large Thomsonite rock. Image courtesy of Lapidary Adventures.
The inn sits on a beach known for its Thomsonite, a rare mineral formed eons ago via volcanic activity. The rocks are pink, tan, white, red, and brown — kind of like agates. Those with green or gray backgrounds and green “eyes” are the most prized. The beach was icy, so we didn’t plan to rock hunt, but I did manage to take a few shoreline photos once our sauna was over.
We drove back to town and visited two art galleries that feature local artists. So many talented people live here and it’s always inspiring to see their works.
After a quick stop back at our cabin for my camera, we drove north to Tombolo Island, which is located down a short section of the Superior Hiking Trail off the highway. Another photographer was there, also hoping to catch the sunset. He had a loud, mean dog that quickly made itself known to us. The photographer’s wife (I assume) came running after it to clip on a leash.
The Tombolo is a popular photo op. I think it has something to do with the curve of the beach, the dramatic rocks, the waves, and relative ease of access.
The other photographer was already set up with his tripod, so we walked behind him to another spot that wouldn’t be in his way. Then we waited for the sun to do its thing. Russ and I arrived plenty early since we had never been here before and weren’t sure how long it would take. I had forgotten my hand warmers, so after taking off my gloves a few times for practice shots, my fingers were plenty cold. I had my camera set up on a tripod and then walked around with my cell phone, taking photos from other locations that struck my fancy.
Tombolo Island on Lake Superior’s North Shore
The sun took its sweet time. The colors were muted but icy rocks provided some nice contrast and drama. I took pictures until my fingers insisted that it was time to go. Famished, we walked back to the car, looking forward to a homemade dinner at the cabin.
We cooked up a porterhouse steak and baked potatoes (with sour cream and chives). For dessert, we made a chocolate lava cake for two, complete with vanilla ice cream. Heavenly!
The next morning, after a short walk on the road along the shore, we headed home. Although we didn’t have snow to play in on our trip, at least we had hygge, and that was plenty good.
This is one of my favorite photos from a recent meander north to Grand Marais, MN. I was hoping for good sunset photos, but the colors weren’t cooperating. After standing outside in the frigid cold for an hour, and with fingers beginning to numb, I snapped this one last photo of Tombolo Island in Lake Superior.
I love the blurry water and the placement of the driftwood. The cynical part of me wonders if some other photographer placed it on the shore for effect. All I know is that I didn’t do it! So I’ll pretend that it just washed up on the rocky beach.
No sunset colors? Turn the photo into a black and white! So moody. I love this lake and hope that shows.
Marie's Meanderings 