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My dad and I joined 12 other Stuehrenberg men (most of whom, like my dad, married into the family) on a fishing trip to Birch Lake, Ontario. We spent a week off the grid in a cabin that had some solar powered lights and gas appliances, but otherwise was primative. We fished like kings, lived like kings and dined like kings. Fried walleye is hard to beat. As is grilled walleye. And curried walleye.

For those of you who don’t want to read about a fishing trip, but are marginally curious what one looks like, you can skip to the photos.

Flying in to Mineapolis-St. Paul was great. We say hundreds of square miles of lucious green trees and neighborhoods much like those here in North Portland. We also caught a glimpse of the collapsed inerstate bridge, which despite the horror of it, was really cool to see. The river is much more narrow than you’d expect, and it just looks surreal sitting next to a series of functioning bridges.

From there, we caught a puddle-jumper via Hibbing to International Falls, crashed for the night, then rallied with all the uncles and cousins. We crossed the border like it was 1999 and took two float planes 200 miles north to Birch Lake. It was my first float plane ride, and my first viewing of lake country. It was beautiful to see so much empty, boreal forested land rife with lakes. It was also cool to see some of the Canadian Shield, and even bring some home. How many people have a 1+ billion year old door stop? Some of my family are Bible literalists, so I didn’t make much of a to do about the age of the rock.

The day we arrived was quite windy, so we took our time getting settled in, geared up, and worked up. Finally, with the sun out and rather big waves, we couldn’t take it anymore and ventured out for calm waters. No one caught fish in the big wind, but just as the sun was setting, people started catching walleye right in our own bay.

Subsequent days varied in weather, but we continued to catch fish like crazy. The morning of the second day I headed out with my dad, one of his high-school buddies and we hit the fish. We were jigging, something than I’d never done before, and seemed rather boring at first, but there’s something mildly therapeutic about bouncing a weighted hook with a minnow on it off the bottom of a lake. Knowing which color of jig head to use seemed to be key in our success, so at lunch we’d share our location and tactics with others, and of course, share fish stories.

It’s been a while since I’ve had a fish story, but the trip was full of them. Partly because the fishing was amazing, and partly because this group of guys are hilarious, the stories were great. For example:

• After Steve caught a fish, it vomited up a 6″ long, partially digested fish along with the minnow it had been caught with
• Phil, after tying a fish to his stringer, took off in the boat to head to another hole. The stringer was too long, so the prop decapitated the fish. But the head still stayed on the stringer
• While cleaning fish and helping people on the dock, I came back to find a mink pulling a stringer of fish away. He was difficult to dissuade, and didn’t seem to mind the stomping.
• Dustin caught a fishing pole and reel.
• I caught a walleye on a leftover sausage, but the jighead came untied at the edge of the boat.
• Nate caught a huge walleye that fought like crazy, and I snagged it’s tail.
• Gerry stabbed himself in the arm with a fillet knife while cleaning – the only injury

There are of course, many, many more. But not being there would make them boring. Our activities were somewhat limited because the forest is so dense you can’t walk, and so we fished, ate, played cards, and slept. It was the perfect escape. Add to that constant loon-song, eagles fighting for fish remains, an otter, the mink, and the sheer beauty of the northern woods, and you’ve got an escape. Sadly, we had to return.

Tigger is no longer with us. The cantankerous tabby has been Michelle’s companion for 18 years. The old man has been in renal failure for quite some time, occasionally dipping in and out of poor health. Finally, after a week long decline, we took him to the vet to put him to sleep. We’ve struggled with the decision for months now, though the quality of his life has not been that great, and his grooming and mood have suffered lately. The old man moved with stiffness, wobbled when standing, talked to no one, and drank like a fish.

As a memorial, we placed him at the foot of Ella’s tree so he could share his watchfulness, hardiness and pith with its developing roots. We had joked about getting a cactus to extend his legacy, but they do not fair as well in this climate. Maybe we’ll put one indoors so we can drop it in our laps when we miss him, snag new clothing on it shortly after a first wear, and risk a blood-drawing nip if we pet it too long. The only problem with the plan is that cactus don’t make any noise. Tigger’s secret was that he was part Siamese. Tigger vocalized unlike any other cat I’ve met, and though it was usually a nuisance at 1am, 2am, and then 4am, occasionally it was funny to listen to his vocal contortions. House guests may disagree.

Michelle has had Tigger since she was 10 years old, so he’s done his share of moving. Starting during college (and the flea incident), Tigger has moved 5 times in the last several years. Each time (since the flea incident) he has rebounded quickly. He’s an indoor/outdoor cat, so as long as there was a cat door, he pretty much moved on his own schedule. That’s a double entendre. Oddly enough, each additional move seemed to improve his mood some, though I think he favored the Alberta area most. Cats love Thai food. He was part Siamese after all.

Tigger and I didn’t always get along. Something about me taking his bed and attention soured him to me. Still, it didn’t sour him enough from constantly wanting my attention, or puking on stuff. Still, we had a healthy pseudo-nemesis relationship that I’ll now have to fill with something else. He will be missed, but not as much at night.

A photo tribute

Last Thursday I won the technical services pie eating contest. It was a single fruit-pie, no hands, winter takes all. My approach of eating in a clean progression put me behind at first, but the technique paid off once the other contestants tried to work with the crushed pulp of their fruit pies. The prize? Besides the title, I won $25 worth of go-kart tickets. I ended up sharing them though because the go-karts at Oaks Bottom are slow, and run by disgruntled power-tripping teenagers. 5 minutes of karting with 4 stops was enough.

Michelle, Ella, my parents, sister and I all rode (and stood) in the Bridge Pedal this year. It was Ella’s first real ride in the buggy and we put on a total of about 22 miles. Ella is really not so certain about the helmet, so we all had to show her that we too had helmets on, and that she was ok. Things went fine until the line up, when we had to take her out for a while and let her see mom. Then, the ride was on, and she was relatively happy while in motion.

Sadly, there were long swaths of time where we were not in motion. The confusion at the Hawethorn Bridge wasn’t bad, but the 1+ hour of standing and waddling to the Ross Island bridge was lame. Ella was very distraught, and cried for a bit when we prematurely put her back in the trailer thinking we were going to start again. I tried to explain to her that we would be moving soon, but she was vocalizing what everyone else was thinking. Waiting sucks.

We pit-stopped in the bushes to eat then crossed the Ross Island slowly and enjoyed movement for the remainder of the ride. Michelle got ahead of us on the Marquham, but thought she was behind us, so she finished in a hurry, trying to catch up. We of course waited at each bridge for her before figuring that she’d ventured on.

I have a secret though – I didn’t actually finish the event. A mere 5 blocks from the finish, I met up with Michelle and we hastened back up Interstate to get home before our company had to leave. Ella and I had a top speed of 29 MPH getting on to 405 to then climb on to the Marquham. She slept through it all – whee!

Yesterday was the first time in a decade that I’ve been able to answer “No” to the question “Have you been outside the US or Canada in the last 3 years?” while donating blood. Made me kind of sad.

Michelle and I celebrated our 6th anniversary today by tiling a counter and priming the walls in our bathroom, installing some gutters, and ogling the city from way up big pink at City Grill. Tiling was a surprising amount of fun, and we’re hoping after the grouting tomorrow that we’ll still feel that way. We still have the floor to do. One bonus? The tile was free. We pulled it out of a dumpster near my sisters. A tile place was emptying their warehouse and had lots of small batches available. Score.

The gutters are in dire need of repairs and I’ve been slowly working on them for the last 2 weeks. The biggest challenge has been getting the new downspouts to fit into the old smaller drainpipe. Today I finally figured out the proper technique. I was briefly thwarted by some wasps who seem to have made a home between some trim and old shakes. My pesticide-free way of getting rid of them? Zip-tie a small propane torch to a long pole and alternate between spraying the entrance to the nest with water and bumping it with a pole, then trying to burn the defensive wasps before the wised up or bit me. After half an hour, I finally gave up and decided to work on another part of the house. The wasp-torch-pole is patent pending.

Finally, we cleaned up and Michelle tricked me in to dressing up for dinner at City Grill, 30 floors up in the Bankcorp tower. We had window seating on the east side of the building, and Michelle was kind enough to let me face south. The view was spectacular, and only interrupted by good service and food. For a guy whose family would pay to climb church towers in Germany for a good view, this was an excellent surprise.

Now, with a baby who is getting ready to walk, we head in to year 7.

Jas and I met up with Michelle and her coworker for lunch in Pioneer courthouse square to see Brett Dennen play a set for the Noon Tunes. Brett is one of the few folk singer/songwriters that I’ve been drawn to in a long while and the show today was really a lovely way to spend a long lunch. He’s playing at the Crystal Ballroom Friday if anyone is interested. Michelle and Jas say he puts on a great show. If lunch was any indication, I suspect they are right.

In addition to the music, it was fun to watch work on the buildings downtown, including the packed elevators coming off the old Meier and Frank building, which has part of its facade peeled back during renovation.

Yesterday afternoon my mom called to tell us that we couldn’t really get in to the neighborhood because the swat SERT team was there.

huh?

Well, after an alleged car theft, alleged liquor store holdup, and alleged high speed chase, three teens abandoned an allegedly stolen car and allegedly hid in the bushes in our neighborhood. My mom discovred SERT officers in her back yard and decided she ought to check the news for details instead of going out to ask them what was going on. Outside the front of the house? An armored vehichle with a man sitting in a turret.

After the alleged 3 were caught, we were allowed back in to the neighborhood, though our street was roped off until around 8pm. The officers stationed outside our house joked with us, and my mom even got pictures of Ella with the two cops by their place as a momento.

Despite the 3rd event in as many weeks, we’re constantly told the neighborhood isn’t really this bad. We know it isn’t, and it’s been rather funny.

Michelle was surprised to find the garage door tagged last week. I was surprised too, since I’d just put out the garbage and hadn’t noticed it myself. The tag was rather unimaginative, and my guess is that it’s the work of some bored teenagers. Just a hunch.

We had to repaint the garage – which could have used it, but wasn’t on the short list of things to do. Before painting, the neighborhood association’s newsletter editors stopped by to chat and to take a picture, and they recognized the tag and weren’t worried.

All in all, I found the experience quite funny. You see, the person who tagged the garage made a typo. Instead of spraying “Our hood,” they sprayed “Are hood.” Its such a beautiful irony that I have to make fun of it on the internet.

Joe, John, Ben, my dad and I all rode in the Seattle to Portland bike ride this weekend. It was the first for all of us, and we all made it. The ride was a lot of fun, and followed a really enjoyable and scenic route along many backroads and on a few major highways as well.

There was a rather horrible hit and run accident on Sunday hich has drawn a lot of attention, and it has been interesting to read comments in many of the local papers along the route. Opinions of the ride, the riders, and cyclists, cars, and “the law” vary wildly.

The Longview Daily News has some rather hostile remarks predominantly from the area’s inhabitants, but also a fair share of nasty remarks from cyclists. I can understand the annoyance that these people must feel having to deal with the delays, litter, and arrogance of many riders, but most seem to have a very loose grasp of the law regarding bicycle travel, and a surprising amount of pain considering the rather limited duration of the nuisance.

Changing the route might not be a bad idea, but lowering the cap on the number of riders would be a great good will effort on the part of the club. The number of riders was absurd, even from the participant’s standpoint.