Quit looking at me. Can't you see I'm trying to lay some eggs?

June 13, 2021 - Sunday morning

51 degrees/clear skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

A good birthing unit at the nation's best hospital has nothing over the gravel road leading to the Brule River. Turtles of every shape and size, snapper and woods turtles alike, can be found digging holes and dropping eggs. Give 'em long legs and ears and they could pass for the Easter bunny gone horribly wrong.

Yooper brother Mark and I followed the tracks this mama made yesterday morning and found her busy laying a clutch of eggs.

In my former life, back when the boys were small, we occasionally harvested large snappers and while cleaning them, would let the eggs fall into a pan that was held under the suspended female.

The eggs, more like ping pong balls, tasted better than the most farm fresh chicken eggs. 

Hey, a large family of growing boys living on a teacher's salary? If it could be grown or hunted and tasted better than shoe leather, we ate it. I'm six feet tall and by inches, the shortest of the Pennington men. Guess eating turtle eggs didn't harm any of us in the least.

Home from yesterday morning's walk, I began the final preparations for this upcoming week's hike. First was to spray what clothes I'll be wearing, including my tent, with Permethrin. 

It's an insect repellent that ticks and other creepy, crawly, flying, critters find unsavory. The nice thing about Permethrin is that after drying, the effect will last for six washings, making it a long term barrier. 

Sargie and I made a flying trip to Iron Mountain to leave several bags of clothes at the thrift shop. I donated seven or eight winter coats that were mostly worn in Alaska. I found I was holding onto them for sentimental reasons, none of which were practical.

Back home, I began the daylong process of weighing and measuring each item that went into my pack. 

Those are ounces, not pounds

Each item was weighed, then recorded, right down to the smallest wire used when charging my headlamp.

It's difficult not to be obsessive over pack weight. Every extra ounce that's in my pack is one that my back, knees, and hips, have to carry. I weighed, recorded, packed, and repacked. Trail Boss Scotty would be proud of me.

In the end, pack weight without food and water was around seventeen pounds, something that is very doable. Where the real weight lies?

FOOD and WATER.

After four days of snacks, food, and one liter of water, was added, the pack weight increased by another eight pounds. 

I was having something of a hissy fit when Sargie, calm as always, reminded me that the heaviest weight would be at the beginning and that we'd be eating our way to lighter packs as the miles rolled by. As usual, my girl was right.

A break was taken in the afternoon to watch Emerson's spring dance recital from New Hampshire. She performed in tap, hip hop (Grandpa's least favorite) and ballet, my favorite by far. Grandma Sargie and I were, indeed, very proud of Em. 

At one point during her ballet number, Grandpa had big tears rolling down his cheeks. She was a beautiful, graceful, girl, dancing to a beautiful song. I guess there's still a bit of appreciation for the fine arts that continues to reside within this old body of mine.

Macrea should arrive today around noon. We'll spray that boy's hiking clothes with Permethrin and hang them out to dry while we're filling his pack. Hopefully, we'll depart for Duluth sometime before mid afternoon. Our destination lies around four hours away.

I still haven't started a separate youtube channel yet, so what video I upload will have a link here... at least I hope so. I doubt there'll be much in the way of written word. If I do get a channel made (hopefully with Macrea's help as we drive to Duluth) I'll also post the address where you can subscribe and watch daily. (Not sure what that means, but that's what the kids say.)

OK, no doubt, I'll make an entry in the morning from the hotel before the shuttle takes us 81 miles to the north to begin our hike.

Party on, Garth.

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Emerson's in the middle front