As I drive around the country I see a lot of cool church signs. Some are dumb. Most are clever. Some are downright hilarious.
My favorite ever was “Your arms are too short to box with God.”
I’ll be on the lookout as I drive to Utah for the Outdoor Retailer convention. Look for more soon.
Respectfully submitted,
Canoelover
So Ian comes home from the library with a stack of DVDs, mostly classics and such, but in the pile was Alien vs. Predator.
Synopsis: it totally sucked.
Best part: The film is rated PG-13 for (and I quote) “violence, language, horror images, slime and gore.”
Slime and Gore? Okay, gore may be tough on the sensitive constitutions of the under 13 crowd. But slime? This is a generation weaned on Nickelodeon’s Gak, Floam, Smud, Goooze, Sqweeze, and a host of other synthetic goos that are certainly more horrifying than anything an Alien could ooze. I can see a 12 year-old cowering in the corner screaming “Mommy, it’s making slime…”
I have never been more proud of my son. To be able to suspend his intellect, good taste and breeding for one hour and 40 minutes and wallow in the stupidity that is AVP is a gift.
…please contact the management?
It was found in our driveway. I know no one who likes the Carpenters. So one of two options exist:
A) Someone I know well enough to pull into my driveway and stop is a secret admirer of the dulcet tones of Richard and Karen. Enough to label the CD twice.
B) It was planted by one of my many enemies to inflict upon me an aural punishment the likes of which are usually only reserved for the truly evil. I suppose they were all out of Air Supply.
I have said CD under lock and key.
Lower Wisconsin River, looking upstreamI needed a few days to relax a little before the trade show season gets serious…Outdoor Retailer Summer Market starts in a week or so and after that it’s buying for the following year. So this was my last chance to get a little outside time.
Mississippi/Wisconsin ConfluenceThe whole canoeloving family set out for Wyalusing State Park, which is at the confluence of the Mississippi and the Wisconsin Rivers. It’s a lovely place with some of the loveliest views I’ve ever enjoyed. The ridge campsite has many sites overlooking the river; we opted for the more private ones on the backside of the campground but we could still walk over and enjoy the views.
We had two canoes—our Minnesota II and the little Curtis Companion. We started off as two in the Curtis and three in the MN II, but Ian is a solo paddler, and was having difficulty taking instructions from his big sister (even though she’s usually right). So we made a midstream correction, I moved into the MN II with two duffers, and Ian took the Curtis with Gracie. He handled everything just fine, including the big Mississippi. I think he may also be a canoelover. I’m cool with that.
We did spend a good deal of time doing very little…watching the fire, roasting marshmallows and making s’mores, taking a few pictures, taking naps in the pop-up camper. The weather was sweet, cool evenings and warm mornings verging on hot afternoons.
There was a nice variety of insect life. One particular favorite was the dragonfly (looks like a four-spotted skimmer) that landed on the roof of our pop-up to warm up Monday morning. There were a lot of odonates on the water, mostly Common Whitetails (L. lydia) and little coveys of Amberwings with an occasional CG Darner or two. Bluets were mating and landing all over our canoe and us, which was fun. Mostly Skimming Bluets (E. geminatum) but I’m sure there were dozens of other varieties there too. Bluets are so bloody hard to identify…
This mayfly was hanging around in the restroom so I liberated him (or her, I dunno, I’m not a mayfly guy). Someone will tell me species I’m sure, it was a little more yellow than this picture shows.
The weirdest insect was the big one. In all my outdoor ramblings I had never seen anything like this beastie. Huge mandibles, long, butterfly-like abdomen, two sets of huge wings like a dragonfly…and I had never seen one before.
Turns out it’s a dobsonfly (Corydalus cornutus) from the order Megaloptera (which is Greek for “are you sure it’s not a 747?”). If you haven’t seen one before, don’t feel too bad, they’re short-lived, as are most mayflies, fishflies, and others of their ilk. This guy had been through a tough fight and had already broken one of his giant mandibles and was looking for a place to cash in his chips, having accomplished his mission. Still, at 5″ long, he was a formidable specimen.
Dobsonflies are better recognized as their macroinvertebrate nymph—the hellgrammite. I’ve seen hellgrammites all over but I guess I never put two and two together. I guess they’d have to take on an adult form to mate as do all macroinvertebrates. Just never thought about it. My guess is that they were named for James Dobson. He also has large mandibles and sometimes uses them when he shouldn’t. That and he lacks a spine.*
Sunsets were particularly lovely. I intruded (with permission) into a campsite that had a better view and started shooting. This is a campground that attracts nice people: no loud parties or boisterous neighbors, just a nice couple of schoolteachers from Moline Illinois and a friend’s fiancee’s parents (how weird is that).
All good things must come to an end. We packed up this morning, intending to hike the Northern Unit of Effigy Mounds National Monument, but Whitney’s sprained ankle didn’t feel up to it. So we instead did the next best thing—we visited the Dickeyville Grotto, which cannot be explained but must be experienced. The family portrait here took advantage of the reflectivity of one of the giant glass orbs.
L. to R.: Ian, Canoelover, Olympus 720SW, Whitney, Stephanie, Emily.
I leave you with this little sand painting, done by algae, sand, and some gentle wave action on a slough of the Mississippi. Better than anything I could do.
Restfully submitted,
Canoelover
*I’m sure some of my readers (at least one of you) like the Rev. Dobson. I find him smug and self-righteous. But you have to ask yourself…if the Corydalus cornutus had been named the Falwellfly or Corydalus oralrobertsonii, I’d have to go there too, would I not? Besides, I’m still wondering what Rev. Dobson has against Spongebob.
Widow Skimmer (Libellula luctuosa)I was working at the shop yesterday, and during a brief lull I went out to shoot some pictures of some classes that were going on. Every year we say we need more pictures of adult classes — in October. So little old proactive me went out to remedy the problem. I got some decent shots of people learning stuff (rescues and towing), but it was a target-rich environment for an odonatelover like me.
The problem was most of these odonates were very, very skittish. The concentration of them was such that they were extremely territorial, as they are all in the throes of looking for mates and laying down some serious eggs for the next generation. They fought and dived and swooped amongst themselves like a bunch of adolescent boys at a middle-school dance, staking out territory that they really didn’t own per se.
Anyway, they didn’t sit still very long and I still haven’t figured out this bloody camera so I missed a fair number of shots, but I managed to get a few representative samples. The most prominent guest was a Widow Skimmer (Libellula luctuosa) which are fairly common but on the larger side for a Libellulidae.
Eastern Amberwing (Perithemis tenera)There were probably a hundred little Eastern Amberwings (Perithemis tenera) which are one if the smallest of the Libellulidae with a wingspan of maybe 4-5 centimeters. They’re cute but very flighty.
I did manage to get a quick shot of one in flight but it was zooming away from me as I took it so it’s a little out of focus. They are pretty back lit and Amberwing seems to be a perfect moniker.
There was also a pair of Common Blue Darners (A. junius) who had found true love or lust or whatever dragonflies feel and were busy gettin’ it on dragonfly style, laying eggs on every conceivable surface. They’ll hatch little nymphs this summer, and they’ll fall to the bottom of the pond and start eating like a teenager before a track meet. After the last episode with a CGD, it was nice to see some of them thriving rather than a solitary male limping off to lick his wounds.
When dragonflies mate the male grasps the female behind her head with a pair of claspers, and the female swings her abdomen around under the male and grabs a little sperm packet called a spermatophore, which males store in a set of secondary genitalia on the underside of their abdomen. The couple might stay conjoined for a few seconds or for a few minutes or more depending on the species, but quite a few of them behave like the CGD and oviposit (lay eggs) at the same time, the dragonfly equivalent of painting the nursery.
Eastern Pondhawk (Erythemis simplicicollis simplicicollis)
Last but not least was a very skittish male Eastern Pondhawk, sunning itself on a piece of cinder block. Compared to the Pondhawk the rest of these guys would be considered gregarious, so I had a tough time getting close enough to get a good overhead shot. Pondhawks often eat Amberwings. Maybe he was just waiting to pounce.
Respectfully submitted (to a kind and patient reader who indulges my pathology),
Canoelover
L. to R.: Ian, Mango Man, CanoeloverDM and I had our monthlly lunch date, this time taking along the progeny. Ian is pretty open to new food, but I thought this might challenge his taste buds a little. I was wrong.
Cafe Costa Rica is a literal hole-in-the-wall in the basement of the Madison Hostel. I had not heard of it, but David works around the corner from CCR and had to show us. We were not disappointed.
Vicka and Crystal were excellent waitstaff…cute but not cloying, friendly but not overly-so. They appeared to love their job, and Mango Man was appreciative. “They good kids,” he said, in his lilting, hint-of-Creole speech. “They work hard. That harder to find these days.”
The food was excellent. A little spendy for lunch, but for a buck more than a Culver’s butterburger basket, it was totally worth it. Besides, paying a little more to support a family business is always good karma and keeps the community alive and vibrant.
Team Survivor is a women’s cancer survivor group who decided six years ago they wanted to have a dragon boat team. They’re a bunch of cool, strong women, and it’s one club I don’t want anyone to join, but if you did, these are the sorts of folks you want to be around.
When they approached us about helping out as far as expenses go, we had little of our own resources, but we did what we could. The best resource was a phone call to Wisconsin Physician’s Service (WPS) VP Bill Bathke, who is a prince of a guy and I can safely say has deeper pockets than we do. His organization funded the whole kit and caboodle and now Team Survivor has a huge purple dragonboat.
The drum had not arrived from China yet so they had to use my ice fishing bucket. It worked.
Thanks to all on Team Survivor Madison for allowing us to be part of this very cool thing.
Respectfully submitted,
Canoelover
I’ve been blacksmithing less lately due to the extreme heat and humidity. It’s tough to want to turn a 95 degree garage into a 110 degree garage just to play around a little. But I was missing it and I was doing a little welding to repair a chair for Jeff (broken pin upon which the chair swivels). So I got out the giant bag of railroad spikes I found in Illinois and started monkeying around.
The result was Nuthead. I found a nut on the side of the tracks as well and it just seemed to fit. The coolest thing about Nuthead are the hands and feet. Railroad spikes have codes on them, something that seems very planned out. I know that HC means high carbon, 30-40 but still a little soft for a knife, but there are some that are harder. I’ve learned that an additional C means they added copper. As you can see from the head of the spike, it’s a little but difficult to decipher. Also different manufacturers used different codes on their spike heads.
Of course, these spikes are made out of a pretty good quality steel, so there are lots of other things you can do with them. A lot of folks make knives out of them. I have another 50 or so, we’ll see what happens to them.
Metallurgically submitted,
Canoelover
I have often maintained that I would rather paddle ten miles than portage one. With the Paddle and Portage, you don’t really get a choice. 1.5 miles paddle, 1.5 miles portage, 1.5 miles paddle again. The start is Monte Carlo-esque, and it’s quite a mess with over 380 boats in the water at once.
The last time I did this race Whitney was three, maybe four. The t-shirts were teal. Yes, teal, the official color of the mid-1990s. I did it with my friend Patrick Moore, and had broken my ankle in February, so I was in a walking cast. We were fifth out of the water and got smoked on the portage as we were walking, not running. We finished 16th overall, and I think I decided at that point to swear off canoe races where you had to run with a boat for 1.5 miles.
Then Whitney grew up and decided she wanted to experience the P&P in all its glory. I am a good daddy so I said I would do the race again.
So here we are in a small breakaway group, behind the leaders but way ahead of the masses. We’re the boat at the bottom of the picture (Whitney in the bow paddling with pinky, her paddle). We did okay, 10th out of 76 in our age class, with a heavy boat and a nice walk rather than a run across the portage. We were 4th out of the water (in our class) for the first leg, but got smoked again on the portage. We made some of it up on the second leg but we were both knackered by the end of the race as we had trained exactly three minutes for this race a few days ago.
I like to think I am not particularly competitive. Notice I said I like to think that. Put a boat in front of me and I see red and smell blood…must catch…must hunt down…must destroy. I feel like a lion on the Serengeti when a Wildebeest starts running…all I can think is that I want to catch that Wildebeest and have a giant Wildebeest barbeque. Unlike the lion, I don’t bite their necks and consume them, but I fully understand why lions do what they do.
The feeling doesn’t last long as my less-reptilian brain says “It’s only a race.” But I admit that the old frontal cortex has quite a wrestling match with the must-kill-and-eat reptilian brain. Now I can be calm and civilized. Retrospective, even. But part of me still wants to kill and eat a Wildebeest. Or a Springbok. Or whatever has horns and runs away.
Until next year (?),
Canoelover
I hate 5:30 AM alarms. For some reason, 6:00 or 6:15 are fine. But 5:30—it’s like being robbed of the best sleep of the night.
This morning I got up to go to WISC-TV (Channel 3 in Madison) to visit with the morning hosts about the Paddle and Portage. The race is scheduled for tomorrow, barring thunderstorms or other meteorological phenomena.
I am racing with Whitney. The best case scenario is we take the category and smoke it. The worst case scenario is I am burdened with yet another t-shirt. I think t-shirts multiply in my closet. I put out traps and try to cull the herd periodically, but they keep showing up.
As we head into trade show season, let me state unequivocably that I do not want any t-shirts from anyone unless they’re spun from 24K gold thread. Or platinum. I’m not choosy.