A glorious fall day cruising in God's Creation

It has been a a bit since I posted anything about Timber Cruising, mostly because the areas I was in were mostly Ash Swamp, Alder Swamp or Tamarack/Balsam Bogs. They were wet, ugly and difficult. Do not get me wrong, I do love Tamarack bogs, and there were many beautiful Tamarack islands in there, but I did not feel compeled to write about them.

Today I cruised the NE 1/4 SEC10 T60N R14W which is still in Waasa Township. It was mostly uplands, the only time I got wet was in the morning walking through the ferns. An overall enjoyable day.

There are a lot of brown ferns now, the night-time temperatures have been fairly low. The Red Maples are turning as well. There were very few mosquitos, but the green flies are still numerous.

I surveyed a Maple Swamp, the nice thing about them is that they are only wet in the spring.

Scared up two white tail does as I passed by a meadow. They were out sunning, and probably grazing as well.

It does not look like I will go out on Tuesday, rain makes it very difficult to write, since I do not have a Rite-in-the-Rain field book yet.

Last nights NWS forecast was calling for snow on Thursday night, but now they are not. Oh well, it is that time of year.

Until next time.

A Walk in the Woods

Cruised Waasa Township, Section 13 today. At 8:00am, it was overcast and cool, the temperature around 60F. An inch or so of rain fell last night, but I did not wear my muck boots.

I was planning to cover 7 survey points in three stands.  The first stand was not difficult, although the cloud cover played havoc with the gps satellite reception for most of the morning.  The woods were easy to traverse, with waist high ferns, which thoughly soaked my trousers.

The second stand was primarily spruce/tamarack bog, walking was good, although the spagnum was rather thick and spongy. I picked up a companion at the second survey point, who accompainied me to the third survey point, a Whiskey Jack. He was quite talkative and inquisitive. The Indian Pipes were abundant, as were the Service Berries which carpeted the bog with their bright red berries.

The third stand was a bit down County Road 620, across the Embarrass River. The vegetation was a mix of marsh grass, alder swamp and Sprice/Tamarack bog. Very light on the Spruce and Tamarack. The going was very difficult, the marsh grass was shoulder high (5ft +) with tufts at least 16 to 24 inches tall. The alder was thick, with lots of dead fall. The Spruce/Tamarack bog was a relief, open and breezy. The spagnum was thick and spongy. Many of the were in the 10-12 inch diameter or larger.

The flies were not bad, I recall only 5, and I had smacked two of them. The mosquitos were fairly light, so even though I had applied repellant, it really was not needed.

When I finished in the Cedar/Tamarack bog, I decided to head north to the river, instead of fighting the alder swamp again. Not sure that it was the best choice. The river bank was marsh grass, about a half of a mile of it.

Did not have my camera with me, but I will the next time I go cruising.

The Old Cow Man

Badger Clark 

I rode across a valley range
I hadn't seen for years.
The trail was all so spoilt and strange
It nearly fetched the tears.
I had to let ten fences down
(The fussy lanes ran wrong)
And each new line would make me frown
And hum a mournin' song.

Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak!
Hear 'em stretchin' of the wire!
The nester brand is on the land;
I reckon I'll retire,
While progress toots her brassy horn
And makes her motor buzz,
I thank the Lord I wasn't born
No later than I was.

'Twas good to live when all the sod,
Without no fence or fuss,
Belonged in partnership to God,
The Gover'ment and us.
With skyline bounds from east to west
And room to go and come,
I loved my fellow man the best
When he was scattered some.

Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak!
Close and closer cramps the wire.
There's hardly any place to back away
And call a man a liar.
Their house has locks on every door;
Their land is in a crate.
These ain't the plains of God no more,
They're only real estate.

There's land where yet no ditchers dig
Nor cranks experiment;
It's only lovely, free and big
And isn't worth a cent.
I pray that them who come to spoil
May wait till I am dead
Before they foul that blessed soil
With fence and cabbage head.

Yet it's squeak! squeak! squeak!
Far and farther crawls the wire.
To crowd and pinch another inch
Is all their heart's desire.
The word is overstocked with men
And some will see the day
When each must keep his little pen,
But I'll be far away.

When my old soul hunts range and rest
Beyond the last divide,
Just plant me in some stretch of West
That's sunny, lone and wide.
Let cattle rub my tombstone down
And coyotes mourn their kin,
Let hawses paw and tromp the moun'
But don't you fence it in!

Oh it's squeak! squeak! squeak!
And they pen the land with wire.
They figure fence and copper cents
Where we laughed 'round the fire.
Job cussed his birthday, night and morn,
In his old land of Uz,
But I'm just glad I wasn't born no later than I was!

The Men that Don't Fit In

The Men that Don't Fit In
by Robert W. Service

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
    A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
   And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
   And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
   And they don't know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far,
   They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
   And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
   What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
   Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
   With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
   Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
   Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
   In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
   He has just done things by half.
Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
   And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
   He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
   He's a man who won't fit in.

New Job

Finished training today for my new job.  It's one of those jobs that people, at least outdoors people, seem to dream about.

I get to walk in the woods of Northern Minnesota all day and feed the mosquitoes, deer flies, and woods ticks.

In the last few days, I have walked in some of the finest Black Spruce Swamps and White Cedar Bogs. Getting to enjoy the Pitcher Plants, which are in bloom; the Yellow and Pink Lady Slippers; blueberries; Service Berries; various mushrooms, as well as wolves, and bears.

So I now work as a Contract Timber Cruiser. Life can not get much better.

The Land of Beyond

The Land of Beyond
Robert W. Service

Have you ever heard of the Land of Beyond
That dreams at the gates of the day?
Alluring it lies at the skirts of the skies,
And ever so far away;
Alluring it calls; O ye the yoke galls,
And ye of the trail overfond,
With saddle and pack,by paddle and track,
Let's go to the Land of Beyond!

Have ever you stood where the silence brood,
And vast the horizons begin,
At the dawn of the day to behold far away
The goal you would strive for and win?
Yet ah! in the night when you gain to the height,
With the vast pool of heaven star-spawned,
Afar and agleam, like a valley of dream,
Still mocks you a Land of Beyond.

Thank God! there is always a Land of Beyond
For us who are true to the trail;
A vision to seek, a beckoning peak,
A fairness that never will fail;
A pride in our soul that mocks at a goal,
A manhood that irks at a bond,
And try how we will, unattainable still,
Behold it, our Land of Beyond!