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Posts Tagged ‘Lake Erie’

IMG_2954Webner House readers of a certain age will recall the TV game show Password.  Hosted by Allen Ludden, the show featured contestants teamed with celebrities — one of whom always seemed to be Ludden’s wife, Betty White — who then had to get their teammates to say the “password” without saying the word itself.  The password always was disclosed to the TV audience by the breathlessly whispered phrase:  “The password is . . . .”

From my vantage point in one of the office buildings in Cleveland, I look out over partially frozen Lake Erie to the power plant in the distance, with condensation and smoke billowing from the smokestack, pushed by a stiff breeze and starkly visible against the cloudy gray sky, and I think:  “The password is . . . tundra.”  Or:  “The password is . . . frigid.”  Or:  “The password is [insert your choice of word depicting deep, bone-chilling cold].”

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IMG_2942In Columbus, we only have pretend winter.  To have real winter, you need to go north of the Mansfield snow belt line and hang out along the rim of the Great Lakes, where the gray of the skies merges neatly into the gray of Lake Erie and the gray, washed-out colors of the streets, and buildings, and sidewalks.

Even the landmark Rock and Roll Hall of Fame seems bleached of all color as it squats, dusted with snow, along the lakefront, with the sun only a pale, dim light in the sky.  It’s hard to believe that the same shriveled orb that shines about as brightly as a streetlamp through the Cleveland cloud cover is pouring brilliant, radiant heat upon the Equator and the southern hemisphere as we speak.

When you walk around Cleveland on a January day, with the snow blowing and the slush piled on the sidewalks and the temperature down around the single digits and the wind cutting through you to the very core of your being, you begin to understand what winter really is.  We really don’t quite get it in Columbus

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IMG_2851I was up in Cleveland yesterday, in a high-rise building near Lake Erie, when one of the immense lake boats came in.  These are huge, ungainly vessels — the photo above that shows this boat in comparison to Cleveland Browns Stadium gives some sense of its enormous size — but they engage in a delicate dance with the tugboats that position them to move slowly down the channel to the Cuyahoga River for a delivery or pick-up.  The two vessels move with practiced care as hundreds of sea birds wheel overhead.

This is the nuts and bolts of commerce in America:  ships, trucks, and trains carrying tons of raw materials, or component parts, or finished goods ready to move to market.  It’s somehow awesome and beautiful and commonplace, all at the same time.

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There are five structures on Hen Island in Lake Erie:  a combination boathouse, kitchen, and dormitory, a bunkhouse, the Pete Nowak Lodge, a utility shed — and a small, two-story building at the rear of the island called “The Maples.”

Of the structures, The Maples may have the most interesting history.  It was the no-frills living quarters of the hired men who — in the days before the internal combustion engine and the outboard motor — rowed the Quinnebog Fishing Club members out to Old Hen Island.  The island is miles away from the shore in any direction, and rowing out to an island in the middle of Lake Erie had to be hard work, especially when the weather turned foul and whitecaps dotted the surface of the shallow lake. Why is it called The Maples?  The answer to that basic question is lost in the mists of time.

The rowers had to put their backs into their work to make it out to the island — but I’m guessing that when they reached their destination and tossed their duffel bags down they had a very good time until the departure hour arrived.  Although the building is now used for storage, there must have been tables and chairs and a stove on the first floor and bunk beds on the second floor.  No doubt poker games were played, flasks of cheap whiskey were quaffed, laughter rang out at a bawdy joke, and a line or two was wet from the back shore of the island.

The Maples is a silent place, now, but it’s not hard to hear the tales it has to tell.

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One more point about the birds of Lake Erie — there are lots of them.  Around and in Lake Erie they are everywhere; the conditions of water and shore obviously are conducive to many bird species.

On Pelee Island, the gulls have staked out their territory on the rocky outcroppings shielding the west dock.  The gulls know that humans may use the breakwaters for other purposes, but those rocks are theirs.

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At least, that’s what I think this bird is after looking through the Waterbirds of Ohio guidebook from the Ohio Department of Natural Resources website.  It’s one of many bird species we saw this year on our visit to Old Hen Island in Lake Erie.

This bird is huge — not quite as big as a chicken, but much, much larger than the robins, cardinals and blue jays we see here in central Ohio. It must weigh several pounds, and it’s not particularly intimidated by an approaching human.  Its oily feathers allow it to float comfortably on the water.  It bobs up and down on the swells of Lake Erie and then takes off and wheels around the island, high in the air.  It’s also perfectly comfortable waddling around the patch of grass in the middle of the island, looking suspiciously at whoever might come near.

These gulls also are loud.  In the morning, their startling cries that greet the sunrise could wake the dead — or even the snoring cribbage player who might have had a few Labatt’s too many the night before.  And, of course, the gulls are happy to leave their markers.  The rocky shores of the island are coated with chalky droppings that look like multiple coats of bright white paint.

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We had a great time at our annual father-son get-together at the Quinnebog Fishing Club on Hen Island, although we missed Richard and Chris.  The weather for most of the weekend was wet, cool, and stormy, but fortunately it doesn’t rain on the cribbage table.  In any case, this morning’s sunrise was beautiful.

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In a few weeks we’ll be heading off to the Quinnebog Fishing Club on Old Hen Island in Lake Erie for its annual father-son get-together.

We’ll play cribbage, drink lots of beer, eat until we can’t stuff down any more, smoke some cigars, brush cobwebs from our faces as we do the walking circuit around the little island, toss a few horseshoes, read books on the porch facing the lake, watch some great sunsets, and drink some more beer before staggering off to bed when the generator is turned off.  We might even wet a line or two in the forlorn hope of catching a fish.  We’ll pray that the temperatures aren’t too warm and the air isn’t too humid, so that we can sleep comfortably on the little cots in the old wooden (and therefore non-air-conditioned) bunkhouse.

It’s always a fun weekend — something that, in reality, demands a special, commemorative t-shirt.  So, this year we finally made one.

Russell, as the family’s talented graphic artist, came up with a great design.  At his instruction, we’re going with black t-shirts with his original logo featuring a water view of the island on the back and the “Men of Hen” insignia on the shirt pocket on the front.  The shirt pocket, of course, makes it easier to carry around a cigar, cutter, and lighter.

I think the t-shirts look very cool, although we’ll have to reserve judgment until some of the less than svelte 50-something men on the trip try them on.  Until then, we’ll only say:  All hail the Men of Hen!

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The barrier beach at the Sheldon Marsh State Nature Preserve is home to many seagulls and other birds, as well as a piece of partially buried driftwood that forms a perfect natural bench.  The shells are, I think, the shells of zebra mussels, one of the invasive species that has changed the biology of Lake Erie.  The beaches are covered with their shells, which crunch satisfyingly as you walk along.

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Whenever I visit a big body of water, like Lake Erie, I like to walk through the recreational boat docks.  It’s always a colorful and interesting experience, as nimble boaters ready their crafts for a day’s outing.

I’ve never bought a boat, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the boat dealers play on the romance of being out on the water, captaining your own ship, catching prize-winning fish, spending marvelous, sun-dappled days with grateful children, and impressing your neighbors, friends, and clients.

If you walk regularly through marinas, however, you’ll inevitably notice that many of the boats are for sale.  That’s because, after the thrill of buying a boat wears off, boaters quickly come to realize that boating is hard work, and expensive, too.  You’ve got to find a place to dock your boat and paying the mooring fees.  You’ve got to dry dock your boat during the winter.  You’ve got to keep it painted, scraped free of barnacles and crud, watch for rust on those gleaming metal surfaces, and maintain the engines.  You need to buy boater’s insurance, and God forbid if you have an accident.  And you quickly learn that boat engines love to guzzle expensive fuel.

That’s why they say the day the boater buys his boat is the second best day he will ever have.  The best day is when he’s lucky enough to sell it.

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We’re up in Huron, Ohio.  After yesterday’s wind and rain, the clouds have rolled through and the sun is shining, but there is still some chop on the water.

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On Independence Day, shouldn’t we also remember the conflict that some have called America’s second War of Independence?

What’s that, you say?  A second War of Independence?  I’m speaking, of course, of what Americans call the War of 1812 — when they talk about it at all, which isn’t often.  Most people heard about the war in American History class, thought it was boring and confusing, and promptly forgot about it.  That reaction isn’t surprising.  Who wants to think about a war where Washington, D.C. was embarrassingly captured and burned?

The War of 1812 grew out of America’s status as a pawn in the global chess game between Great Britain and Napoleonic France.  Both countries tried to restrict trade with the United States, a bit player in the Euro-centric world of the early 1800s, and the British routinely “impressed” — i.e., kidnapped — American sailors the Royal Navy encountered on the high seas.  A fed-up Congress declared war on Great Britain, land and sea battles were fought, the White House and the U.S. Capitol were burned by British troops, and the British bombardment of Baltimore led to the penning of The Star Spangled Banner.  The war ended with the Treaty of Ghent, in which the British agreed to leave the U.S. border with Canada unchanged and promised not to roil up Indian tribes in the American West, and America stopped insisting that the British end impressment.  America then achieved its only significant land battle victory in the Battle of New Orleans, which was fought after the treaty had been negotiated.

Although most Americans have forgotten the inconclusive conflict, many Ohioans — including the Bus-Riding Conservative — are buffs of the War of 1812.  That’s because one of America’s notable victories, in the Battle of Lake Erie, was fought just off Ohio’s northern shores.  An American gunboat squadron commanded by Oliver Hazard Perry defeated a British squadron, and Perry wrote the deathless line “We have met the enemy and they are ours.”  Today any reveler at Put-in-Bay — and there are likely to be a few — can hoist a cold adult beverage to Commodore Perry and salute the nearby Perry Monument that towers over the lake’s shores.

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It’s cold and blustery up here, with snow squalls rolling through.  Ohio’s Great Lake reflects the weather.  It’s been whipped into a lather of waves by a gusty wind that slaps and tears at all it touches — be it human faces, clothing, trees, or the swing set that creaks on the shoreline.  You can feel the spray 50 feet away.

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A heron scouts for prey at the Sheldon Marsh Nature Preserve

When we were up at Lake Erie over the summer, Russell and I took a long walk through the beautiful Sheldon Marsh Nature Preserve.  Located in Erie County, the 465-acre Preserve contains some of the last undisturbed stretches of natural Lake Erie shoreline.

The marshes, swamps, and woods at the Preserve

Strolling through the Preserve gives you a good sense of the sprawling wetlands and lake-marsh-forest ecosystems that used to be found everywhere along Lake Erie’s shores.  Starting from the lake itself and heading inland, you walk past barrier beaches, swamps filled with cattails, woodland marshes, hardwood forests, and “old fields.”  The ecosystems gradually change from one to the next, each marked by their own mix of flora and fauna.

The Preserve is home to hundreds of different species of birds and different kinds of wildflowers.  Among the birds that call the Preserve home are herons, red-tailed hawks, wood ducks, terns, woodcocks, and numerous songbirds.

The curious water flowers at the Preserve

Russell and I particularly enjoyed watching the white herons at the Preserve, absolutely motionless on their perches and patiently scanning the water, looking for a meal.  We also were fascinated by a water plant with broad green leaves and a single, fist-like bud that grew on a thin stalk and then opened into a bright white flower.  These curious plants grew in profusion on the edge between the swamp and the marshland.

The Preserve is free and is found along U.S. 6, just west of Huron.  Autumn is supposed to be a good time to visit, particularly if you like bird-watching, because the Preserve is a favorite spot for migrating birds.  It’s well worth a visit.

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When we travel to Hen Island, we go through Pelee Island — a little-known part of Canada found smack dab in the middle of Lake Erie.  Hen Island actually is part of the Pelee Island Township, which consists of nine islands.

Pelee, as viewed from our plane

Pelee Island looks like someone carved out a few miles of Ohio farmland, hoisted it out, and plopped it into the lake.  The place is flat as a pancake, and when approached from the air it looks like an island of farms.  Pelee Island has a small air strip and is regularly visited by ferries, but it has the feel of a remote place — sparsely inhabited, not much activity, and not many people out and about.  However, once or twice our Hen Island trip has coincided with a celebration the locals call Pelee Fest, and it is clear from that experience that the locals and visitors know how to have a good time.

Pelee Island is part of Ontario province and is the southernmost part of Canada.  It’s also the largest island in Lake Erie, covering about 10,000 acres, and has about 300 permanent residents.  The population gets up to 1,500 during the summer months, when Pelee is a popular fishing destination.  Farming is the big focus of the economy, although Pelee Island also features the Pelee Island Winery.

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