Southern IL/MO 10/20

Southern IL/MO was not on my agenda this year.  I had other uses for my vacation days, but, since COVID-19 became a thing and lasted longer than it should have, I ended up working a whole lot and hoarding all of my vacation days.  I considered a short trip to Shawnee.  Then Nathan, who is attending school in Carbondale, got me thinking about getting down there for some herping.  Then Peter, then Chad, then Justin...okay.  Let's do it.

After leaving home around 10:30 AM on October 1st, and sitting through a 2 hour standstill on I57 near Dix as the result of an accident, I arrived with just enough daylight to set up camp.

 I then picked up Nathan from SIU Carbondale and we headed south near the vicinity of Snake Road to try our hands at dip-netting some lesser sirens (Siren intermedia).  Near an old but still functioning railroad trestle, we searched for some time but struck out, finding only a few cricket frogs (Acris blanchardi), various tadpoles (Hyla and Lithobates spp.), and some small fish.

I can't expect good photos from an iPhone at night with only a flashlight for illumination.

After messing around that creek, and then a well-known (dry) ditch along a well-known road, we headed back to the campground, where, still fueled by caffeine and adrenaline, we hiked the mostly-dry wash and rock-flipped until after midnight, finding long-tailed salamanders (Eurycea longicauda) among the cricket frogs, southern leopard frogs (Lithobates sphenocephalus), green frogs (Lithobates clamitans), and one ringneck snake (Diadophis punctatus).

Nathan posing a ringneck snake for photos.  Hey, it was late.

The following day, we started off by doing some road cruising, which turned out completely fruitless.  We then headed to a site Nathan found on an earlier jaunt, which had produced black kingsnakes (Lampropeltis nigra) and timber rattlesnakes (Crotalus horridus).  In fact, he found adults and a number of recently born young.  The site is rich in artificial cover and just smelled of snakes, but the weather conditions weren't ideal at that time, so we decided we'd head back later once (if) the sun warmed things up a bit.

Nathan suggested we try our luck at finding Desmognathus fuscus, the northern dusky salamander, at a site where they've been introduced.  After quite a bit of backroad cruising (and nary a snake, dead or alive, in sight), we reached our destination.  Within minutes, Nathan found a salamander.  Then I found one, and then we found more and more and realized that these salamanders were doing quite well at this place.  These are plethodontids - lungless salamanders that usually frequent shallow rocky wooded streams.  Our approach at finding these was minimally invasive and I was satisfied getting a few decidedly poor photos.

This animal was found under a small rock in the water and it, like the others, quickly mad a mad dash for safety.  Here, you can see how well it blends in with the surrounding substrate.

                                                                         

Some nearby habitat

Of course, the opportunity to find a new species in Illinois throws itself at me and I wander off and photograph a green frog.  But it was an interestingly spotted green frog.

After more fruitless road cruising, and settling with the realization that the day wasn't going to warm up much more than it already had, we went back to the previous site to flip the old discarded trash.  We did end up finding a neonate female black kingsnake, a plainbelly watersnake (Nerodia erythrogaster), and a large, nearly perfect, and most importantly, recent shed skin from a timber rattlesnake.  I'm not going to lie, walking around the well-vegetated site, knowing there were lots of timbers hanging around, made me question my sanity.  But just briefly.

A beautiful young kingsnake

A beautiful, not so young plainbelly watersnake

Seeing this opens your eyes to the potential dangers lurking - wear thick, high boots in areas where these rattlesnakes occur.

One last stop for the day was a pretty big wetlands complex where we had hoped we could dipnet some sirens.  We cruised a few levee roads and tried our hands at finding some of the slimy beasts but we had no luck.  However, we did find a couple of mole salamanders (Ambystoma talpoideum) under some dry logs in an adjacent floodplain forest.

This steaming cesspool surrendered no sirens

But Nathan did find two lovely mole salamanders nearby

That evening, we met with Chad to have dinner at an establishment that offered distanced outdoor seating.  After a great dinner and herp discussion, Nathan told me that we were very close to the site of the infamous Illinois Mediterranean house gecko (Hemidactylus turcicus) population.  That sounds a but convoluted so let me clarify - there is a self-sustaining population of Mediterranean house geckos in Illinois, subsidized by human development (as most North American populations of these lizards are).  These Illinois geckos are much like the geckos found in the southern United States, but what males this population incredibly fascinating is that they have managed to survive the Midwest's sometimes harsh winters.  It's almost unbelievable, but there they are, tied to just a few buildings in one town in southern Illinois.  So after we finished our dinners and bid adieu to Chad, Nathan and I walked a block or so to scour the exterior of a building the geckos are known to frequent.  We peeked in between cracks in the masonry and between the outer walls and electrical infrastructure, and incredibly, there they were, tightly tucked away and alert at about 55 degrees F.  They were wary of our intrusion, so they did not hang around for more than a few seconds each time we'd spot one.  So I took a couple of pictures and let them be.  

Funny, but as we were creepily lurking around the weedy rear of the building, shining flashlights and acting excited, several happy tenants of that building exited, saw us, and asked, "Are you guys looking for house geckos?"  Yes.  Yes we are.  And thank you for understanding!

One of the better cell phone shots of one of the house geckos.  It is firmly wedged in its safe space.

The discovery of the geckos represented the final activity of the day, aside from campfire building and a long conversation at the firepit.  We had plans for the next day - plans which included searching for ringed salamanders (Ambystoma annulatum) across the big river with Peter.

The next morning we headed to Missouri, but as we had time to kill until our rendezvous with Peter, we decided to try our luck at a nearby site for a couple hours.

A number of these Spiranthes orchids were in bloom.

A young racer (Coluber constrictor)

This was the first time I had seen a garter snake (Thamnophis sirtalis) in this area.  Nathan found it under a rock.

I spooked this young three-toed box turtle (Terrapene carolina triungus) while hiking, and stepped back a few feet and remained motionless until it emerged from its shell for a quick photo.

A medium-sized racer 

A young Eastern fence lizard (Sceloporus undulatus)

Nathan found this striped bark scorpion (Centruroides vittatus) that had just killed this cricket.  We left it unscathed to continue its endeavor.

We were running out of time so we packed up and headed toward the site Peter mentioned as a good starting point to find Ambystoma annulatum.  No salamanders were found, only a single ringneck snake and this very cool beetle, Dicaelus purpuratus.

Ringed salamander habitat

Plan B was another site a ways north, but Peter thought it might be a good idea to wait to see if we'd get the rain he anticipated in order to up our chances to find this fall breeder.  Searching at night would also give us the upper hand as these salamanders may be found in or near the vernal ponds as they prepare to breed.  So again, we killed time by hiking around some other nearby habitat in an area I hadn't visited before.  

After searching long and hard and only securing a couple of ringneck snakes, Peter found this very young Eastern copperhead (Agkistrodon contortrix)

Peter photographing the copperhead

Minutes later, Nathan found this one, an even bolder patterned individual.

Eventually, Nathan and I cited exhaustion and hunger as our excuse to take a break.  So, off to Waffle House covered in tick trefoil (and actual seed ticks - not a comfortable situation) to wolf down some waffles before embarking on our final destination of the day, a place Peter felt certain we'd find ringed salamanders.  

When we arrived, it was as dark as dark gets and there were lots of signs that it had rained fairly heavily in that location - heavy enough to leave small puddles in the crushed limestone parking area and get the bugs ramped up.  Heading into the dark, wet woods poorly equipped with insufficient illumination tactics (I had lost my brand new LED flashlight earlier that day, and Nathan, well, he didn't even have a flashlight, only his rapidly draining iPhone), we felt good about this place.  Peter was armed with the only decent flashlight so he led the way as we poked around several depressions in the ground, some with water and some dry as a bone.  Ultimately we chose to focus on the first one we came across as it contained the most water and was well vegetated.  As we mucked our way around the perimeter of the marshy area, I flipped a small piece of bark and found our first ringed salamander, albeit a drab metamorph.  It was exhilarating, nonetheless.

Peter and Nathan ahead of me as I sheepishly follow sans flashlight (light provided by iPhone flash).

Metamorph ringed salamander

We dipnetted the pond for a few minutes hoping for an adult, and though we did get some interesting bycatch (including ringed salamander eggs and newts), the only other ringed salamander we got was another metamorph.

Goegeous aquatic adult newt (Notophthalmus viridescens)

We called it a night, thanked Peter, and made the almost three hour trip back to camp.  That night I expected to create the biggest, hottest, most impressive campfire in the history of Pine Hills, since that morning I had spent two hours collecting dry twigs and branches and constructing an epic teepee in the firepit.  Nathan and I expected to sit and bask in the glory of our own hell on earth, but for reasons I cannot comprehend, the fire did not take.  Some twigs burned, but it was as if a rain had fallen while we were away and the wood soaked up all the water.  Whatever.  It was late and I was getting up in two hours to started the 7 hour trip home (six hours plus one scheduled detour).  I actually only slept for one hour.  Suffice it to say, at my steadily advancing age, the day that followed wasn't easy.

It was a great trip, and we all had fun.  For three days, we focused 100% on herps and not at all on politics or anything else that can distract one from the joys of life.  As I expect that to be my last herping trip of the year, it was time well spent, and I look forward to what 2021 brings.

Woe is me: An open apology to many box turtles

I almost never turn down an opportunity to help a herp in need.  I do not interfere in natural situations; what I'm referring to is "rescuing" animals in predicaments.  Untangling snakes from erosion netting, painstakingly detaching snakes and lizards from glue traps, and helping turtles cross roads.  Doing these things helps the animal and makes me feel good too. 

Turtles seem to demand the most sympathy from me.  These seemingly bumbling leggy lumps tug at the heartstrings.  If you haven't watched intently as a box turtle extends its neck and alertly surveys its surroundings, you might not understand.  I cannot resist slamming my brakes and risking life and limb to move an oblivious turtle off the road.  I mean, it's not their fault their once pristine habitat is now heavily fragmented and bisected by roads all over.  The least I can do is help when I can. 

But speaking of box turtles, I have quite a history with these lovable loafers, and it hasn't always been good.  An unlikely paradox exists wherein I deeply care about the well-being of box turtles that have fallen on hard times, yet I often fail in my duty to serve them appropriately.  I've found that I a) consistently underestimate the tenacity and agility of these turtles, and that I b) fail to learn my lesson time and again.  Allow me to explain.

My experience with box turtles began in 1994, with my first pet box turtle. At that time, my excitement over having my own exotic pet menagerie was in high gear.  I knew a lot about box turtles already - at least, I thought I did.  I really wanted a box turtle of my own and I was determined to have one.  At last, the day came when my mom drove me to the Fishing Schooner Pet Store at 3449 West Irving Park Road to pick out my turtle.  How magical the feeling - to be a boy selecting his new pet and bringing it home where surely it would delight me for years to come.

Except that didn't happen.  Everything that followed the purchase was a slow-motion disaster.  First, I chose an ornate box turtle (Terrapene ornata), one of the most difficult species of box turtles to properly keep in captivity.  I picked that one because it looked cooler than the other turtles.  The book I purchased along with the turtle (which should have been purchased and read PRIOR to the animal acquisition) suggested that the ornate could make a rewarding, but challenging, captive. 

My sole source of box turtle care information in 1994

Second, my setup for the turtle was deplorable.  A twenty-gallon high glass aquarium (shudder) with a layer of reptile bark, a water dish, and an incandescent heat lamp - that was it.  The turtle refused every type of food I offered.  After a nerve-wracking two weeks or so without eating voluntarily, I was forced to give it food through a small syringe, and I never was able to tell if it actually ate any of it as most of it leaked out of the turtle's mouth.  Within a couple more weeks, its eyes became inflamed and swollen.  Lethargy set in.  The turtle never moved aside from a few sad head bobs as it slowly suffered from entirely inadequate husbandry.  Store-bought eye drops to treat vitamin A deficiency provided a very temporary respite from blindness, but it mattered not as the turtle still refused to eat.

Within a couple of months, the turtle was dead.

What had started out as an innocent, ignorant foray into box turtle keeping, ended up a tragic failure.  Of course, since then I've identified all of my mistakes, but to this day it bothers me that I not only inadvertently supported the collection of wild native ornate box turtles (which were listed as state threatened in 2009 due to habitat loss and, you guessed it, overcollecting), but allowed this slow painful death of an innocent turtle to occur.  Today this sort of thing would be simply inexcusable, as there is so much information available online for those interested in keeping pet turtles.

Warning:  Graphic.  The doomed ornate box turtle, in very poor condition.  1994.

Now that I stop and think about it, maybe this was the fateful impetus for pretty much every other interaction I've had with a non-wild box turtle.  I've got blood on my hands and they are keen to it.

In 2005, I came into possession of a Chinese box turtle (Cuora flavormarginata).  I was working as the manager for the reptile department of a pet store and someone simply brought it in a walked out.  I took it home with me, and the next day I constructed an outdoor pen in an area previously used as a vegetable garden.  I figured cinder blocks would work effectively as a barrier and even doubled up to make the wall higher.  I installed a little pond and beach for the turtle.  I tossed in some earthworms, which were wolfed down in short order.  I felt really confident in this enclosure and just knew it would serve the turtle well.

But, within hours, the turtle was gone - it had somehow scaled the double layer of cinder blocks - and was never seen again.

The Chinese box turtle, hours before it disappeared without a trace

In 2015, an old friend sent me a text with a photo of a turtle he walked up while picking morels in some woods nearby.  It was a three-toed box turtle (Terrapene carolina triunguis), a non-native subspecies of T. carolina, found west of the Mississippi River.  Clearly, an escaped or released (I've come to believe it had escaped) pet.  I picked it up and brought it home.  I set it up in a big plastic livestock trough in the reptile room.  Deep substrate, big deep water area, full spectrum lighting and proper thermal gradient all provided.  She thrived, but I wanted to keep her outdoors as much as possible for the beneficial full-spectrum sunlight, morning dew, rain, and natural food she could get.  I built a wooden pen for her near our deck.  She was later joined by a Russian tortoise (Agrionemys horsfieldii), another rescue.  The cohabitation arrangement worked well, until the summer of 2016, when one of the two decided to dig a hole to escape.  Ultimately they both got out, and by the time I noticed, it was too late.  My wife, who was due to give birth, was bushwhacking in our neighbor's weeds...it was madness.  We tried to find them but it was futile.  We surmise they must have gotten out under the fence along the alley and began their escape there.  Trust me, I still beat myself up over that whenever I think about it.  The outdoor pen was solid but I underestimated the turtles' ability to burrow underneath it.  I only hope they were found and cared for by good people.

The (1st) three-toed box turtle

Later in 2016, I again came into possession of another wayward three-toed box turtle.  I was neither physically prepared (had a new baby) nor psychologically prepared (still scarred by the escape earlier that year).  Three-toed box turtle #2 went straight to the Wildlife Discovery Center in Lake Forest.

This one was saved from my negligence

Fast forward to July 5 of this year.  I get a call from another old friend in Chicago who says his dog had caught a turtle in their backyard.  It turns out that animal was an Eastern box turtle (Terrapene carolina carolina), clearly an escaped pet as it presented with the telltale long nails, slightly overgrown beak, and bold demeanor.  I brought it home with the intention of rehoming it as soon as possible.  In the meantime, I set it up in the same trough I used for the three-toed box turtles, but this time I kept the trough outside on our deck.

My daughter excitedly holding the new creature

On the morning of July 8 (today), I woke up early and went out on the deck to check on the turtle.  Imagine my surprise when I saw her strutting her stuff on the deck outside of her trough!  I returned her to the trough and covered it with a plastic tarp.

What...?  What a stinker.

Later in the day, while at work, I receive a text from my wife that made my stomach ill - the turtle had escaped again and had fallen 15 feet to the ground.  Fortunately, she fell to an area where immediately below was grass and not the ground level deck.  At home, I inspected her.  She seemed to be alert and active; an offering of big juicy earthworms was eagerly accepted and that settled my nerves.  She is due to be dropped off at a box turtle sanctuary in Lemont this weekend.  THAT can't happen soon enough.

So in closing, what have I learned?  Evidently, nothing at all.  Guys, don't make the same mistakes I have.  Keep your box turtles locked up.  Better yet, don't keep box turtles.  As cute as they are, they do NOT make good pets to anyone but the most dedicated keepers.  Keep them in the wild.

Gitchee Gumee

The last few months have been nothing short of tumultuous.  Between COVID-19, police brutality leading to civil unrest, and a presidential administration incapable of properly addressing either of those as well as other key issues, our nation is not in an ideal place at the moment.  It's all actually quite a complicated matter, not easily explainable or debatable.  I've waded a little too deeply into political discussions that invariably go nowhere and I've defended science countless times against lots of people who frankly have no idea what they are talking about.  It's mentally exhausting, to say the least

  Nesting wood turtle, in-situ

The following three factors have had a profoundly adverse affect on my herpetologically-themed activities:  my wife's purely work from home schedule, the cancellation of my daughter's daycare, and my newfound unconventional work schedule.  Not to mention, general social distancing policies limiting what we can do and where we can go.  I cancelled a herping road trip to the northeast, the International Herpetological Symposium in Atlanta was cancelled, and in general I haven't had as much time to get out in the field.

So when Ryne Rutherford reached out and offered to take me into the field to find and collect data on wood turtles (Glyptemys insculpta), I gladly accepted and eagerly anticipated the unique experience.

Nesting wood turtle, in-situ

Ryne and his wife Jen run a small biological consulting firm in the Upper Peninsula (UP) of Michigan.  Both of them are naturalists in the classical sense; Ryne is an expert in local amphibians, reptiles, birds, mammals, plants, lichens, and more, and Jen is equally as dexterous.  They live in a beautiful home steps away from Lake Superior - a home they rent to visitors during the heavier travel seasons.  Located at the foot of the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness, it's about as secluded as you can be in the lower 48.

The drive to the property, formally dubbed "Gitchee Gumee", took about seven hours.  Once there, I was given a tour of their beach.  An absolutely breathtaking sunset was beginning to take shape as we began to talk herps and the following day's activities.  Later, Jen made some chaga tea from locally sourced fungus and graciously offered me some.  I didn't know what to expect since I generally turn my nose at mushrooms, but the tea was rich, clean, and comfortably earthy.  We stayed up late on the back deck attracting moths with a bright light and a white sheet, and engaging in discussion over our philosophies regarding nature.  We also talked about and became giddy over the moths.

The next morning, Ryne and I departed Gitchee Gumee and headed toward the first spot on the agenda.  It was still early and a bit cool so he focused on finding and showing me some interesting north woods wildflowers.  I was blown away at the diversity and abundance of the wildflowers as well as Ryne's knowledge of them.  It was a lot of tough, steep uphill climbing and bushwhacking - the activity reminded me of how important it is to be in shape in order to do these kinds of things (I'm not as much as I used to be pre-fatherhood, while Ryne is a strapping lad).  

Pink lady slipper orchid

Starflower

Fringed polygala

At our second site, we hiked down to a winding river and walked the gravelly and sandy beaches looking for nesting wood turtles.  I excitedly scanned the beach, making sure to also look for turtle tracks in the sand.  After maybe 15 minutes of searching an area of beach covered in herbaceous vegetation, Ryne paused and looked at me.  I stopped and wondered why.  A couple seconds later, without taking his eyes off of me, he smiled and said, "I'll wait for you to see it."  Then as if by magic, it appeared right in front of me.  An adult female wood turtle, officially my first ever, motionless among some grasses and sedges.  I was overcome with glee in a way I've felt before with certain other species, but I think being surrounded by tremendous scenery and being in such good company made this all so much more special.  I picked the turtle up and inspected it as Ryne began unpacking his mobile lab.  

Ryne inspecting a female wood turtle

The wood turtle is an unusual North American testudine in that it is semiaquatic but feeds both in the water and on land.  My understanding of most of our semiaquatic turtles (other exceptions include Emydoidea and Glyptemys) is that they feed in the water; if they happen to catch something on land, they will not consume it until they've crawled back to the water.  Wood turtles actually forage on land and spend a great deal of time there; Ryne has observed these turtles munching away at mushrooms.  But back in the water, they will feed on both plant and animal matter.  Appearance-wise, these turtles are large and have a rough, textured carapace not unlike that of some tortoises.  In fact, the wood turtle reminds me of what you might get if you could somehow successfully cross a Blanding's turtle with a pancake tortoise.

Wood turtles are a northern species that are long-lived and experience a fairly short active season.  In order to survive to adulthood, they must evade predators from a tender young age, find food and refugia, and survive bitter cold winters.  Predation of eggs and young turtles is very high, and sexual maturity isn't reached until the age of 15-20 years or more, so every adult wood turtle is precious.  Wood turtles are protected in every state they are found in, and though they aren't federally protected, they are categorized as endangered by IUCN and their numbers are overall decreasing.  Studying these turtles long-term will help Ryne, Jen, and other biologists further their understanding of the species and provide clues as to how to better conserve them and their habitat.

After not finding any other wood turtles at that second site, we trudged our way back to the truck and toward our final site - a river further inland in what I'd consider a true wilderness area.  When Ryne parked the truck, he took a few extra minutes to prepare for the outing.  I could tell that this was not going to be a walk in the park.  Well, not any ordinary park.  It was going to be the kind of experience that can make or break a prospective field biologist.

Lichens in a tall tree

In the Chicago area, it's highly unusual to visit a natural area and not be guided by some sort of path, whether it's a wide paved path or a busy deer path.  It's also highly unusual - impossible, actually - to avoid any sign of human impact.  You cannot and will not escape roads, power line cuts, overhead airplane noise, distant traffic, litter, channelized streams, degraded old fields, widespread invasive species, etc.  Basically, if you're a nature lover but have never explored beyond the scope of the Chicago Metro area (or any metropolitan area), you haven't experienced wilderness.  

We left the truck at the end of a seldom-used dirt road and began hiking into the woods.  Ryne had been here many times before - he was quite familiar with the lay of the land.  He confidently pushed through, occasionally stopping to point out a new interesting plant.  We soon reached a bluff overlooking the river; it was stunning.  But we needed to get down to that river.  The easiest way was by carefully sliding sideways down a steep sandy embankment.  When we reached the bottom, we began our trek toward the first of several sandy turtle beaches.

Busy beach - wood turtle tracks all over

It occurred to me almost immediately that the bug shirt I brought with me (which was in Ryne's backpack) was going to be a requirement.  Somehow Ryne wasn't being eaten alive - that, or he's just tough.  I had to have looked silly waving the mosquitoes away from my face, neck, and arms.  Each time we stopped for even a brief moment, I was dancing.  I really tried to be cool but I gave in and put the damn thing on.  Ahhh, relief.  Funny, but when I brought my bug shirt with me, I thought it'd make me look legit.  Instead, I think it made me look even more urban.

Me with one of the wood turtles

We finally reached the first of the several beaches at our third and final site.  After scoping the beach and finding wood turtle tracks, Ryne spotted the first turtle of the site.  Another female looking to nest, she was cloaked in a swarm of blood-sucking gnats.  I picked her up to palpate for eggs when I noticed the tiny flecks of blood on her skin drawn by the gnats.  I kind of felt privileged to be wearing my bug shirt and also kind of felt like a jerk for filming this poor turtle being eaten alive.  This particular animal was entirely new to the study, so Ryne marked her shell with a unique series of  identifying notches so that if captured again, data taken can be compared to earlier data.

A wood turtle bombarded by blood-sucking gnats

Over the next several hours and two beaches, we'd find two more nesting female wood turtles for a total of four turtles.  Each turtle was identified and measured, and other meristic data was compiled from each animal.  Ryne has been out to these sites throughout the Upper Peninsula for well over a decade and has a lot of data he and Jen have collected.  This data has functioned and will continue to function as guidelines for habitat restoration/improvement, land use recommendations/restrictions, and other areas.  For example, several of the sandy beaches frequently used by wood turtles for nesting are easy targets for reed canary grass, an invasive species that can completely redefine habitat.  Reed canary grass is tall and dense and presents a challenge to wood turtles who have been using those sandy beaches to lay their eggs for many generations.  It may also prevent the sandy substrate from achieving temperatures sufficient for proper incubation.  Ryne has seen the grass proliferate, and because of his observations and reporting, the beaches had been treated with herbicide and all of the reed canary grass on most of the beaches had been eradicated.  Now, the beaches were mostly clear again, providing ample opportunities for egg deposition.

Morels thriving among the dead reed canary grass

We eventually made our way back to the truck and back to Gitchee Gumee, but not before stopping to see a stunning waterfall not far from the ecolodge.  It was the perfect ending to a memorable and remarkable day.  I learned a whole lot about wood turtles and I experienced a day in the life of a north woods field biologist.  I'll tell you, as someone who has only volunteered and tagged along as an "avocational herpetologist", working in giant areas of wilderness without roads or paths and contending with the numerous ticks, mosquitoes, and flies is harder than surveying for herps in smaller, easily accessible areas with good cell reception.    So I also developed a greater respect for Ryne, Jen, and those that work in the kinds of areas like the northern UP.

That night's shower felt really good.  And watching the gorgeous sunset from the shores of Lake Superior at nearly 11:00 PM nearly made me melt.  I have unfinished business in the UP.  I'll be back.

A stunning view from Gitchee Gumee