adventures of a canoelover

So after our wonderful, wonderful 47 degree day during which we lost almost all our snow, things got cold again and we got a dusting of snow, 2 inches or so. This was light powdery snow, the sort of snow that the Inuit people call “light powdery snow.” I’m sure there’s an Inuit name for it, since they have twenty-two different names for snow, but since I don’t know Inu, I punted. Anyway, I digress.

This little dusting made it really easy to see what was going on in the mouse world. All around the prairie there were little hopping tracks and burrows, made by artistic mice who had a sense of aesthetics. On top of the snow they made a series of mice-shaped body prints complete with tail. Sometimes they’d burrow under and leave a little bulge where they were foraging for seeds or hiding from the Redtailed Hawks that often roost in the trees around the rim of the prairie.

If you look carefully you can see footprints within the body print. At least I could when I took them, these are from my small Olympus, not the Nikon. Anyway, it makes me happy to see animal life a week after the Solstice. How these mice get enough fuel in the winter to stoke their tiny furnaces is beyond me. Yes, I know that seeds have a lot of fat in them, but it takes a lot of grass seed to make up enough calories to keep a little mouse warm. Mice thermostats are set on high all the time, so to me, it’s miraculous.

I haven’t been all that interested in mammals…as you know I’m more of an invertebrate guy. But watching the mice tracks got me thinking. I’m sure there are hundreds of mice under the snow of Curtis Prairie, maybe thousands, who knows. I’m sure they’re all eating. I wonder how many pounds of grass seed lies under the snow cover, how much is still hanging from the stalks, and how much a mouse needs to eat each day.

I’m sure there’s info out there. I’ll let you know.

Respectfully submitted,

Canoelover

P.S. Happy caNew Year.

…when you’re slushed in?  Not snowed in, that’s impossible with the snowshoes and such we have around here.  But when the temperature is 46 degrees and it’s drizzling, it’s tough to be motivated to get out there.  No skiing, no snowshoeing…just a bike path covered with Slurpees.

…from Chateau Canoelover.

From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment.

Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread.

The bell struck twelve.

No thanks to NWA (the Minneapolist-based airline, not the Compton-based rap group).  Flight 1030, an Airbus 320, flying at 23,000 feet at 410 nautical miles per hour.  Heading for the KMSN dot.

Lows tonight around zero with 20-25 mph winds.  That means…feels like -22 to -24 F.  So what happens at -24F?  Spit freezes before it hits the ground (which is sorta cool).  Exposed flesh freezes in under a minute.  Green Bay fans put on an extra layer of green and gold grease paint and maybe a hat.

The varnish is finally dry dry.  I put the new bindings on yesterday and Aquasealed the knots on the binding fasteners so my new shoes are ready for their first snow trials.  I put them on and walked around behind the shop on the pond for ten minutes to make sure everything was hunky dory.  It was.

I’m walking on a good foot of snow in this picture.  I might be sinking 4-5 inches.  Sweet.

After the initial “these aren’t going to snap in half under my body weight” trial, I wanted to get out a little with some of my friends.  I didn’t want to stay at work, and I needed someone to make sure that I could feel like I wasn’t playing hooky alone.  So I called Pete at Pemba and said that we needed to get some snowshoe time.  Pete and Brad agreed to come along for a quick jaunt around Monona Bay.

We started from PembaBase and walked down to the bay, which was dotted with ice fishing shacks and guys in snowsuits sitting on buckets.  We’ll be back to join them someday soon, but we were snowshoeing today.  We were heading for The Curve, the second-to-greasiest spoon in Madison.  Three-quarters of the way across the bay we realized it would be closed, so we detoured to Lane’s Bakery.

Pete and Brad were wearing Atlas Snowshoes, since Brad and Pete are sales reps for Atlas snowshoes so they have to wear them.  Truthfully, they’re my favorite “modern” shoes…they’re well-made and have excellent bindings.  I especially like the ten series.  That said, for the sort of snowshoeing I like to do, traditional shoes work far better for me.  There is a certain aesthetic consideration, of course, but that is an extra bonus on top of their performance.

Once we got to Lane’s, we had hot cocoa (the stuff in the envelopes that tastes like brown chalk dust and hot water) and warmed up a little.   When we walked in, T.J. (right) spotted my snowshoes and lit up like a Christmas tree.  Apparently he has snowshoed before at his preschool, and he’s only five.  That is a considerable head-start on my snowshoeing experience.  His mom explained how he really enjoyed it.   I asked him if he wanted to try them on.  T.J. nodded vigorously, not taking his eyes off the snowshoes.

His feet were tiny but I cranked the binding down and he stayed in.  He swayed back and forth on the carpeting, shuffling the snowshoes back and forth, forward and backward, and I could see the little wheels turning…if only these shoes were just a little smaller…

I hope I see T.J. in the future.

Respectfully submitted,

  Canoelover

I’ve noticed that I have not been bouncing back from strenuous activities as easily as I once did. Call it what you will, all I know is that things that were easy are now less easy, and it takes me longer to recover from it. So I did what any self-respecting yuppie would do…I hired a personal trainer.

I met Karla through Team Survivor, a cancer survivor dragonboat team that is based out of the shop. She’s their trainer and nutritional consultant, and I liked her approach to fitness. After a meeting at the shop a few weeks ago, I stopped her and asked about a program that wouldn’t take all day and would help me bounce back a little easier. No problem, she said.

So here I am a few weeks later, playing with medicine balls.

It’s fun. Lifting weights always bored me stiff. Throwing around a big rubber ball takes you back to childhood, except the ball weighs 8.8 pounds. It’s surprising how much resistance you can get with a big rubber ball filled with depleted uranium or whatever it is.

So after a few days, I can tell I am using muscles that have been underutilized. I’m excited to have a program to follow, and writing a check is an awfully good motivator to keep at it.

I’ll keep you posted.

Respectfully submitted,

Canoelover