Skijor for psychos

In honor of the triumphant Norwegian Olympic nordic skiers, this afternoon I donned my best red ski clothes and went out skiing. With the poodle. But it was not skijoring.

Now skijor is a Norwegian word, meaning "ski-drive." Basically, some animal pulls you around the ski trail. In Montana, people skijor with horses. In Minnesota and in Norway, people skijor with real dogs. Dog and people are smiling as the husky or malamute or Marmaduke strains ahead and runs like the wind.



I am stuck with the poodle. The willful, paranoid, psycho poodle. Who does not skijor. At least not for long.

This is the same dog who, when out for a walk on the city sidewalk, strains at the leash to the point of suffocating herself just to get out in front. Do not dare to walk in front of her, you will kill her.

Out on regular ski trails that wind through the forest, she's okay. But on the open fields of Lester Park golf course today, there was, in the words of Bob Dylan, "No direction home." What fun to run circles around your owner...and tie him up in the stretchie leash! What fun to stop for a massive dump right in the middle of a downhill run!

Finally we figured out that someone had to ski ahead and challenge her to catch up.



At the top of the Ninth Hole, with a big view down to Lake Superior, we paused to soak in the sun and the scenery. The older son skied away and ahead, almost out of sight but not quite. Chloe watched him go. Then, with the target of a beloved boy in sight, it was time to run. I had the best 20 seconds of my whole winter as dog and I careened down the fairway toward the clubhouse and the lake.

Then she got all crazy again as all four of us people regathered at the clubhouse. Go to Mom? Dad? The baby in the sled? Poop again? Lasso the big guy?

Too much fun. I loved it all.

Goin' where the climate suits my clothes

Couldn't keep that Grateful Dead lyric out of my head yesterday. Noah and I walked over to Canal Park for a January round of minigolf. Our adventures on the mini-links this spring and summer, in Phoenix, Grand Marais and Ely, whet our appetite for this fine sport. So where do you mini-golf in winter? Indoors. In our case at "Thrillz," an all-purpose indoor sports place just down the street from us. Mini-golf in January in a hoodie.

My streak continues: I beat my child, 26-30. But he's getting better all the time.



On the way back, we saw a flock of ducks, probably goldeneye, tucked into the one bit of open water they could find, in the Duluth ship canal. Waves, wind and seiches keep the canal open most days, even as the rest of the lake freezes over. The goldeneye, like us, found a place where they could do their thing. Goin' where the climate suits their little feathery ducky clothes.

2008 minigolf challenge comes to an end

It was a glorious season of golf for the Slade/Rauschenfels family.


We kicked it off with spring training in the desert Southwest. Sally discovered her inner golf champion on the "Optical Delusion" course in Scottsdale. She tried to fool us with the "How do you grip this thingie?" ruse, but her final scores gave her away. Final preseason ranking: 1) Dad 2) Mom 3) Hans 4) Noah


The North Shore golf season got underway for real in July, with a round at the cool new "GolfN Stuff" course in Grand Marais. It was July 4, we'd just escaped from the bugs at Sawbill Lake, and the competition was as fierce as the mosquitoes. The course is spread along a hill, so there was all sorts of terrain to challenge our clubs. This place was a total tourist magnet, with the added bonus of a climbing wall. But what is it about mini golf and the letter N? The vowels always disappear, like Toys R Us for the sporty set. Too many "i"s around the "n" in Mini? Should we call it Putt Putt golf instead?


The tunnel was a highlight.
Finish: 1) Dad 2) Mom 3) Hans 4) Noah


Noah and I took a boring summer day and made the most of it with a trip to FarPar, a very rustic golf center on the north edge of Duluth. The course was in awful shape. The astroturf was either worn thin or flopping up in ripples, so putting became a huge challenge.
Finish: 1) Dad 2) Noah


The grand conclusion (at least so far) was at Ely's new "Puttn in the Pines." WHAT HAPPENED TO THE VOWEL?? Note the poodle in the car parked at the curb. Chloe really wanted to practice her "paw"-ting, but we didn't let her. It was a vicious round, with lots of holes-in-one and a few holes-in-one-dozen. This was our first encounter with the classic spinning windmill and a mean set of spinning bowling pins.
Finish: 1) Dad, 2) Mom, 3) Hans, 4) Noah.

Yes, I am the champion, my friends.

Putting me in my place

In my selfless quest to find all the North Shore has to offer, to find every view of that blue horizon, to experience those unique activities, and to share these experiences with the public, I bring you, my reader, the fourteenth green of Duluth's Northland Country Club and my finely-practiced putt.

(Get that title??..."PUTT-ing...ME...in MY place")

Okay, so this was my first time actually playing golf on a golf course in over 30 years. I've gone sliding on golf courses, skied on golf courses, picked blueberries right off of fariways, ate at some clubhouses, but never actually played. Until this summer, when I was talking with a friend about public golf courses around NE Minnesota and how they are these great open spaces that average Joes like me can't experience. This friend happens to be an active golfing member of Northland Country Club, which happens to be one of the best and most sought-after courses in Minnesota. And much to my surprise, he invited me to play. That's a bit like asking me to pinch hit at the World Series.

The photo was taken by my friend Duke Skorich, who is embarrassingly good. He finished the day three over. Check out his Northland Country Club blog.

As I explained to my kids, when they asked me how I did, "Well, par is 71. I finished at 75...over par." Actually I lost count on about the eighth stroke of the third hole.

The most memorable single stroke was the one I hit off the second tee, which zoomed down into a draw forty yards away, struck a rock, and bounced right back to the tee.

So for all of you not as quirkily lucky as me, I can tell you it was beautiful...and hot. And at the next hole, #15, where the view down the fairway is even better than the green of #14...I totally nailed my drive right down the middle. Many many thanks to Duke for sharing his course and his knowledge of the game.