tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57869253919455703152024-02-07T16:32:23.325-08:00Up on the SandhillThe nature observations of journalist David HorstUp on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.comBlogger172125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-84061038479190778022023-10-28T17:01:00.044-07:002023-10-31T15:25:07.546-07:00Trekking into Retirement: Door County<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(28, 30, 33); font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><div class="x1cy8zhl x78zum5 x1q0g3np xod5an3 x1pi30zi x1swvt13 xz9dl7a" style="align-items: flex-start; display: flex; flex-direction: row; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 12px; padding-left: 16px; padding-right: 16px; padding-top: 12px;"><div class="x1iyjqo2" style="flex-grow: 1; font-family: inherit;"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u" style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: -5px; margin-top: -5px;"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x x4zkp8e x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xi81zsa x1yc453h" color="var(--secondary-text)" dir="auto" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;"><h2 class="x1heor9g x1qlqyl8 x1pd3egz x1a2a7pz x1gslohp x1yc453h" id=":rkf:" style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 4px 0px 0px; outline: currentcolor; padding: 0px;"><span class="xt0psk2" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><strong style="border-color: currentcolor; border-style: none; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: currentcolor; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration: none; touch-action: manipulation;"><a class="x1i10hfl xjbqb8w x6umtig x1b1mbwd xaqea5y xav7gou x9f619 x1ypdohk xt0psk2 xe8uvvx xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r xexx8yu x4uap5 x18d9i69 xkhd6sd x16tdsg8 x1hl2dhg xggy1nq x1a2a7pz xt0b8zv xzsf02u x1s688f" href="https://www.facebook.com/david.horst.969?__cft__[0]=AZUZRqXQvR-ICi0hB9wYHtSGhIzokxGTDPmnyXcFFLlvpZv7qGWXm3Ea-8hhFkPXRIgITbTzO1eR4uyzVOMUhC7T_TssIEt8IZDjxGXu0h9KQv2k7FRCsd8bM3pJ62kyl3GLXu5MIYvygWmWjJCdr5WhgiZtxTc9R-14I828M4RmSA&__tn__=-UC%2CP-R" role="link" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border-color: currentcolor; border-style: none; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: var(--primary-text); cursor: pointer; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: currentcolor; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration: none; touch-action: manipulation;" tabindex="0">David Horst</a>, 10.28.2023</strong></span></h2><h2 class="x1heor9g x1qlqyl8 x1pd3egz x1a2a7pz x1gslohp x1yc453h" id=":rkf:" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; margin: 4px 0px 0px; outline: currentcolor; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; white-space: pre-wrap;">TREKKING INTO RETIREMENT: </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; white-space: pre-wrap;">Door County</span></h2><div><p><span style="color: #38761d;"><i>When my wife, Jean, and I retired in 2023, we vowed we would remain active outdoors. We promised to go on "mini adventures" on nearly a weekly basis. I will report on some of these in a series we’re calling “Trekking into Retirement.” Feel free to reprint or otherwise distribute these essays to others.</i></span></p></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(28, 30, 33); color: #1c1e21;"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rkh:" style="padding: 4px 16px 16px;"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u" style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; margin-bottom: -5px; margin-top: -5px;"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b" style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x x4zkp8e x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" color="var(--primary-text)" dir="auto" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; display: block; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Never in my 65-plus years have I hit peak color on a leaf-peeping trip. That string ended Oct. 20 during a long weekend in Door County.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The drive up through Brown County hinted at what we would see. Hillsides beyond the farm fields were painted bright yellow, orange and crimson. Jean and I were on our way to our first post-retirement overnight getaway and the first one we've had in a long. long time. </span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8lhIahR641C_39zH2I8jJDFv9afvt2_hhWVAef1cIfEs69OQAdkW4KuZuy4M0CH2V9ea835jD97d4Z2fkpfAUx0UzkuBU4PSAP8uDsfxfqiywDKPDiyX96AjhBm7ExTofxuEPhKUqQnjdFWqywSCI0HHQb08KeYCq44VzPbimw2DM3SuY-azd1eTj5ak/s512/Door%20County%20shore.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="512" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8lhIahR641C_39zH2I8jJDFv9afvt2_hhWVAef1cIfEs69OQAdkW4KuZuy4M0CH2V9ea835jD97d4Z2fkpfAUx0UzkuBU4PSAP8uDsfxfqiywDKPDiyX96AjhBm7ExTofxuEPhKUqQnjdFWqywSCI0HHQb08KeYCq44VzPbimw2DM3SuY-azd1eTj5ak/w400-h299/Door%20County%20shore.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Another vehicle contained my wife's mother, brother and sister-in-law. Animals had always prevented such a vacation. A neighbor was taking care of the animals, except for the two dogs. Them we had on board.</span><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /><span><br /></span></span></div><div dir="auto"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8lhJTRQNvojlmDRCMuD2c4xOACIlFJWhrRxoZbAa_3uQRaaI5zXzRoyTDo_GaglkU9LhfB1PlR841aclpjqGfbjTbPqlYMzsDnyd0oAKej2yGrn7jYphH5TT29SrhgKRDIDkSvEDIfHiL6NYy_dzHJQzWw80bmxkVLxT4o49N1jOVpTiMERx487KlhDc/s512/3691AC65-B52E-4F62-A683-5C55CFDB0D06.jpeg" style="caret-color: rgb(28, 30, 33); clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="512" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8lhJTRQNvojlmDRCMuD2c4xOACIlFJWhrRxoZbAa_3uQRaaI5zXzRoyTDo_GaglkU9LhfB1PlR841aclpjqGfbjTbPqlYMzsDnyd0oAKej2yGrn7jYphH5TT29SrhgKRDIDkSvEDIfHiL6NYy_dzHJQzWw80bmxkVLxT4o49N1jOVpTiMERx487KlhDc/w400-h300/3691AC65-B52E-4F62-A683-5C55CFDB0D06.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a><span style="font-family: helvetica;">They were in dog crates, preventing the inevitable accident should the 9-month-old unknown mixed breed named Elsie been free to climb into the driver's face. Ten-year-old Rosie, a yellow Lab, would have been fine. I have to admit we never completed the series of ever-longer trial car rides we had planned, but their car manners were perfect. </span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The "Trekking Into Retirement" portion of this trip took place at the Mink River Estuary Trail, owned by the Nature Conservancy. TNC is a wonderful group. They exist to preserve special natural areas through landowner donations, grants and tax deductions. The public owes a debt of gratitude to TNC chapters for forestalling development of areas that are the legacy all of us should be able to see. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsfrzc2767iMiXc2KVXfkKiIQO2RNpOKIEmxqihQrO4xcx-TnJ6Q93haEPefO7cSlAJQ37Vz5EoHxeuYbSTp3n0v-tvFD2jp2Trt7I66m2fTbSbsOBkyIa1wlVYGIMGRpRMFF0QJVsXQDz_i9sdJfFa4X7njoMJw4juWC3l3iGB7AClu2oK8GUoTCw95Q/s4973/MinkRiverRosie.jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="4973" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsfrzc2767iMiXc2KVXfkKiIQO2RNpOKIEmxqihQrO4xcx-TnJ6Q93haEPefO7cSlAJQ37Vz5EoHxeuYbSTp3n0v-tvFD2jp2Trt7I66m2fTbSbsOBkyIa1wlVYGIMGRpRMFF0QJVsXQDz_i9sdJfFa4X7njoMJw4juWC3l3iGB7AClu2oK8GUoTCw95Q/w200-h161/MinkRiverRosie.jpg" title="Rosie" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVK2QiE7INyTaLIutnU2fVaC-PEA1RYaaZN2va29Ka7uZJgBGmMFq5_oEZt6U9W-vMByJz173RMOGJ9G6s_iLC-TVV1U0RuKoGhaySHS1bewgeL02z8rufA1caLKKvrdLVJeA313eq8C4uqQs6IOdocA4ylaMqiWKTPMMfguFTQxfmnoitE3iRIIn_LYY/s1200/MinkRiverElsie%20-%201.png" style="clear: left; display: inline; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVK2QiE7INyTaLIutnU2fVaC-PEA1RYaaZN2va29Ka7uZJgBGmMFq5_oEZt6U9W-vMByJz173RMOGJ9G6s_iLC-TVV1U0RuKoGhaySHS1bewgeL02z8rufA1caLKKvrdLVJeA313eq8C4uqQs6IOdocA4ylaMqiWKTPMMfguFTQxfmnoitE3iRIIn_LYY/w200-h133/MinkRiverElsie%20-%201.png" width="200" /></a></div>With a trailhead located south of Ellison Bay on Mid River Road, the Mink River trail is 1.3 miles out and 1.3 miles back, with a side trail that adds about half a mile out and back. It is an old-fashioned hiking trail, not a 12-foot-wide strip of asphalt built for <br /></span><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span>bicyclists, though three off-roaders were among the few people we saw. A path the width of two human feet leads you through patches of pines, cedars or mixed hardwoods. Whether you are a fan or oaks, maples, birch or ironwood, you will find trees for you. </span><span>The lingering, dry summer not only helped the color show, it sustained the ticks. Rosie has a Lab's nose and she frequently stuck it into clumps of brush. At one point, Jean removed 13 tiny ticks from Rosie's face, a reminder to tuck your pants legs into </span><span>your socks and do tick checks afterwards.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">No one said Trekking into Retirement was going to be without challenges. </span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">By the time our short getaway had endedded, wind and rain were ripping the colorful leaves from the tops of the trees. Beauty is a fleeting commodity, but we had experienced the peak. That'something that stays with you.</span></div></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(28, 30, 33); color: #1c1e21;"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" style="padding: 4px 16px 16px;"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u" style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; margin-bottom: -5px; margin-top: -5px;"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b" style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x x4zkp8e x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" color="var(--primary-text)" dir="auto" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; display: block; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><i>++ Photos show the morning sun casting color on the shoreline and dogs Elsie and Rosie.</i></span></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div>Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-6643132306190189822023-01-15T10:11:00.007-08:002023-01-16T11:50:47.967-08:00With Russell’s passing, we’re missing the best kind of boring<p style="text-align: left;"></p><p dir="rtl"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The first thing you need to know about our dog Russell was that his previous family brought him back because he was "too boring."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Boring is a trait I’ve always wanted in a dog, so we signed
the papers at the Waupaca Humane Association shelter and made Russell’s next
home ours.</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUtdaKgG6WS_rU9-nCYUeZS-2XI4XpmmrrBiG_zKEh90s2qa700RfedQqpyCZL5OFc9q6kiUBQ_OS1H_uabZIkB0KyTsG-vln1RbPpAukte-3Aev3ulPhXAwwFbSNvq5ioXYpLR69nSi4fHfN755agJ5mDIO9YNK_InRaV9WLsnkc1Rvl8RWK_bGy0/s4000/20220725_161403.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUtdaKgG6WS_rU9-nCYUeZS-2XI4XpmmrrBiG_zKEh90s2qa700RfedQqpyCZL5OFc9q6kiUBQ_OS1H_uabZIkB0KyTsG-vln1RbPpAukte-3Aev3ulPhXAwwFbSNvq5ioXYpLR69nSi4fHfN755agJ5mDIO9YNK_InRaV9WLsnkc1Rvl8RWK_bGy0/s320/20220725_161403.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>It’s true, he had no use for balls or stuffed toys that look
like cats or dinosaurs. Fetch was a game for dogs who needed affirmation. Russell
was secure with his own value. Though he was OK with visitors going on about
how handsome he was. And they invariably did.<p></p>We had 10 years with this gentle, handsome, ok, boring dog.
Our time together ended Jan. 11 on a day and time we chose. That is to say we
called our vet and made the hardest decision a pet owner ever faces –
euthanasia.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Being able to decide when to end a creature’s life makes it
clear society views our pets as property. It is in truth a huge responsibility.
It may seem more logical, more humane than not doing it, but it never feels
like the unquestionably correct decision. Just like every other time we had to
make this choice, I had to suppress an overwhelming urge to yell, “No, stop!”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Russell, a 14-year-old Lab-terrier mix, had nasal cancer. He was the second of our dogs to
develop the disease that vets tell us is extremely rare. Our first clue was droplets
of blood falling from his nose and huge sneezes that sometimes slammed his
sweet face on the ground.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">When he was diagnosed in September, we were told to expect
he would have maybe four to six weeks. Without any chemo treatments, he made it
past Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas, then New Year’s.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Russell’s sense of self-confidence meant he was never in a
hurry to walk anywhere. We called it Russell speed. Yell until your face turned
blue or hold out any manner of treat and it didn’t speed up Russell speed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb1Mv3Jki6AO14VG7Pr1yTl7sH8MYhU1rurcwKGMgFTvF_oql9TZ0OD910z72tIu5Brfs3d9JcN955xgca9D7-kw19HgaLiE5lqfYlqHAmyi5-glEMhWCSJvImzAASt_T6hlUheDw09e6Rw3s5D5vY_ukTY95rm8TPV_9z-b28lXApvDoXFJRVAAqH/s2048/IMG_1633.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb1Mv3Jki6AO14VG7Pr1yTl7sH8MYhU1rurcwKGMgFTvF_oql9TZ0OD910z72tIu5Brfs3d9JcN955xgca9D7-kw19HgaLiE5lqfYlqHAmyi5-glEMhWCSJvImzAASt_T6hlUheDw09e6Rw3s5D5vY_ukTY95rm8TPV_9z-b28lXApvDoXFJRVAAqH/s320/IMG_1633.JPEG" width="240" /></a></div>He was not in the least food-motivated. He did enjoy a good
drink of water, but not the stuff from the tap. Something sweltering in a bird
bath or an uncovered bucket was more to his liking. Better yet if muddy and
stuffed with leaves.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">The combination of his gentle presence and his handsome face
made it impossible to stay angry with him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">In recent years, we have taken “pasture walks” with the
Russell and our 8-year-old Lab, Rosie. This was a loop around the outside perimeter of the llama pasture that
took about 15 minutes, depending on how many new smells we found. One
afternoon, we looked and called and called and looked and couldn’t find the
dogs. Finally, we spotted them at the top of the pasture. When we were too busy
to go for a pasture walk, they decided to take each other.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Russell’s decline was marked by more bleeding, weakened rear
legs and general confusion. He had four seizures, shaking violently for
several minutes. The fear was obvious on his face – and ours. His awareness
seemed to improve after the seizures. He walked with more purpose, rather than
turning left again and again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">He stopped eating. We offered him chicken and rice, baby food,
even Braunschweiger, but he refused them all. He grew thinner and weaker. His
quality of life had diminished greatly and there was no chance it would ever return.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Finally, we agreed it was time. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Our vet, Jim Ziegler, takes in all manner handicapped dogs
and sticks with them until life is no longer a favor. He is kindness embodied.
He agreed it was time.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">He came to our house to administer the injections. Russell
was on his favorite bed in front of the fireplace. When it was over, he
appeared to be sleeping where we had seen him 1,000 times. But the reality was
that he is gone from our lives.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">His ashes will join those of our other past pets. The
memories of this delightfully boring dog will live on in mental images of him
circling the pasture, watching for us from the sidelights of the front door or
lying in his guard dog spot on a grassy hill. We will encourage those images by
retracing his steps – at Russell speed.</p></div><p></p>Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com2Dale, WI 54931, USA44.2730379 -88.678442315.962804063821153 -123.8346923 72.583271736178844 -53.5221923tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-32455564458047591042020-06-25T13:44:00.002-07:002020-06-26T06:14:40.843-07:00This time, crane hunt may be serious<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil4k5cV8BzbBhnKpLQjJXC3BdgYKpuICqZ-CUG8XSSKCU6bAh8fDC70CiSX5QLBHC8_1aO8m562IE6-HpjBcDE-T0uquMYJexPHHhBdreruV8-ICOAgl2gN8UCSA_z4vX2rXJC4K33ylM/s1600/crane+walking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1076" data-original-width="1600" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil4k5cV8BzbBhnKpLQjJXC3BdgYKpuICqZ-CUG8XSSKCU6bAh8fDC70CiSX5QLBHC8_1aO8m562IE6-HpjBcDE-T0uquMYJexPHHhBdreruV8-ICOAgl2gN8UCSA_z4vX2rXJC4K33ylM/s400/crane+walking.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">By David Horst</span><br />
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Wisconsin’s Natural Resources Board clearly has a taste for sandhill crane.</div>
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They discussed the possibility of a crane hunt at their June 24 virtual meeting. Three times in the past seven years, Wisconsin’s Conservation Congress voted for a sandhill crane hunt. Nothing came of it. Nothing comes of a lot of Conservation Congress votes. The hearings, held all around the state, always have a noisy “shoot it if it moves” minority.</div>
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But this is not a bunch of aging hunters down at the town hall telling how they’d like things to be. This is a state board with actual oversight powers over the Department of Natural Resources. The Board heard a report on the status of Wisconsin’s sandhill crane population, called for by member William Bruins, a dairy farmer from Waupun. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuLD2nBCy3sjIxudo-f-bjOO8EpugXPr8uTyrLN1WggCqUmtlvKm_nsXINu6O5MZ0d2EK9PavkbsibHnqEcBU0B3vu5Sk6acgydoI2bMSl3-nj2tluF5yR_BrMUlWIedm2v6chJXv_kEs/s1600/DSC_1114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1070" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuLD2nBCy3sjIxudo-f-bjOO8EpugXPr8uTyrLN1WggCqUmtlvKm_nsXINu6O5MZ0d2EK9PavkbsibHnqEcBU0B3vu5Sk6acgydoI2bMSl3-nj2tluF5yR_BrMUlWIedm2v6chJXv_kEs/s320/DSC_1114.JPG" width="320" /></a>The facts were laid out by Taylor Finger, DNR migratory game bird specialist. He showed a graph of the sandhill population growth that started with next to zero 30 years ago and has grown to 90,000 birds in the fall count. The growth has been dramatic in recent years.</div>
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That led Bruins to ask Finger if it wasn’t obvious that a hunt was needed. Board Chair Frederick Prehn, a dentist, cranberry grower and gun store owner from Wausau, took Finger off the hook, saying he appeared with the understanding he would only present facts and not draw any conclusions about whether a hunt was or was not justified.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjPdFnkYWL6FaOE-mMBqZ_78sBGFhZfj8nHIaosmIHBPWuI-3mobFawTNHhSO8slSqSUbKr9UZ3Ja4k17I-qBG9pG-WvMuOogvxVuaW3olwe4RIc6_kbwDkDJhQnVc-8AYrhm_Hqof5Gw/s1600/2+cranes+portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="873" data-original-width="1090" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjPdFnkYWL6FaOE-mMBqZ_78sBGFhZfj8nHIaosmIHBPWuI-3mobFawTNHhSO8slSqSUbKr9UZ3Ja4k17I-qBG9pG-WvMuOogvxVuaW3olwe4RIc6_kbwDkDJhQnVc-8AYrhm_Hqof5Gw/s200/2+cranes+portrait.jpg" width="200" /></a>Finger’s response brought in another point of view. He said there is also a “social consideration.” Sandhill cranes are big, charismatic birds, he said, that 30 years ago weren’t seen in Wisconsin. His hand tipped the other way when he took away one of the arguments always presented by hunt opponents. Asked if endangered whooping cranes mixed in with the sandhill flock might be killed by mistake, he said hunts of our eastern sandhill flock already allowed in Kentucky. Tennessee and, most recently, Alabama have produced no reports of whoopers mistakenly shot.</div>
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There actually are already two types of crane hunts in Wisconsin. Farmers, after trying other required techniques for mitigating crop loss, can be given permits to shoot cranes. But they aren’t allowed to eat what they shoot. Native tribes can shoot up to 50 cranes a year. Finger said they’ve never come close to taking half that number.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq-FxCA87-BAb2fWRrfmZrHAYn-Zq7HW1H4ELFA5M0A5zSqfQnZbkC1WRqvwRZ4G5bH048fZdWWJJVyZ5CdvwxQCM7KLPWTHwFSY37Bi6rUmGf_Aff35Q7-39y-dbhrooa7AQ55MULERs/s1600/crane+leg+stretch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1198" data-original-width="1600" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq-FxCA87-BAb2fWRrfmZrHAYn-Zq7HW1H4ELFA5M0A5zSqfQnZbkC1WRqvwRZ4G5bH048fZdWWJJVyZ5CdvwxQCM7KLPWTHwFSY37Bi6rUmGf_Aff35Q7-39y-dbhrooa7AQ55MULERs/s320/crane+leg+stretch.jpg" width="320" /></a>My interest in cranes is not how they taste, but the flavor they bring to my life. We get regular visits from sandhills. They are grace in motion. We watch them stretch and preen. As I write this, a pair stands at the edge of our backyard calling out what I can only interpret as, “Give ’em hell.”</div>
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I take part in the annual Midwest Crane Count and my numbers have been stable. I am seeing cranes more places.</div>
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The arguments will be the same as before. Stories of cranes walking down a row of corn seedlings and gobbling them all down. Descriptions of blast-happy hunters that don’t want the meat, they just want to kill.</div>
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I’ve never seen a crane devour a row of corn. I did see one snark up a mouse or a vole the other day. I get a big kick out of watching them land or take off or communicate with their dance of hopping and wing flapping. I have as much right to the joy they bring me as hunters have to the satisfaction of shooting them.</div>
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There were clearly a couple votes on the NRB opposed to the hunt. Given the number of hunters and farmers on the board, I think I know which way this is going to go. Watch the meeting video at <a href="https://dnrmedia.wi.gov/main/Play/75e2abf1e57541b4a8c65b58faf8cd5f1d?catalog=9da0bb432fd448a69d86756192a62f1721">this link</a> and handicap it for yourself.<br />
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Chairman Prehn said he would talk with DNR Secretary Preston Cole over the summer to decide if the agency and the board will ask for a hunt together or the board will go it alone – if the board so decides.</div>
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No matter how that vote goes, an actual hunt would require action by the Wisconsin Legislature. We have indecision and partisanship working for us there. Jump on the issue with your legislators now if you feel strongly about a crane hunt.</div>
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Because of their beauty, size and graceful movement, cranes are considered sacred in many cultures. Here, we have to ask, is nothing sacred anymore. I think the answer is clear.<br />
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Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-36333815305036455942019-11-07T06:51:00.001-08:002019-12-23T03:59:45.033-08:00Check out the winter edition of Wisconsin Natural ResourcesThe winter edition of Wisconsin Natural Resources magazine includes my feature on Pat Fisher, who runs The Feather bird rehabilitation center in New London. You will find it at <a href="https://dnr.wi.gov/wnrmag/">https://dnr.wi.gov/wnrmag/</a><br />
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Here are links to my previous stories in Wisconsin Natural Resources and other stories I've done on Pat.<br />
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<a href="https://dnr.wi.gov/wnrmag/2018/summer/paddle.html" target="_blank">Paddle Tales (WNR)<br />Journals of canoe trips long ago</a><br />
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<a href="https://dnr.wi.gov/wnrmag/2018/spring/Bubolz.PDF" target="_blank">Natural Leader, Nature Champion (WNR)<br />Gordon Bubolz's other natural areas</a><br />
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<a href="https://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2012/07/coming-soon.html">Injured eagle lifted by helping hands</a><br />
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<a href="https://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2012/07/coming-soon.html"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="410" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVz2hiwyY8lLQ_OEBnRfpzYJD0HFcjaqR8FSwLEJfZMgxlRIsmxPJXCb1EXKjKLcNndgbapweDnuAzKMtCR0YKZs00fuwftTMVeazPRNeJ9rCWyuknh0AV5sWxyiMry1f9FGM4YW8Bfk/s200/eagle+release+2.jpg" title="eagle recovery" width="195" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2013/07/osprey-nests-platform-for-mystery.html">Osprey nests a platform for mystery</a><br />
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<a href="https://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2013/07/osprey-nests-platform-for-mystery.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="522" data-original-width="488" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkysAos51UGQzCEZ7D7qwdG6mlBNz8bq1iNVOESS6acLcVDO9oB_ht44bYKJ92hRfbYzkxMjllMI3sZO-fBEbYhgRzNlCfrFTdD4rn5jsvgn12cs07mw2vSgRF10x6fihpl9RMkdQ6iA/s200/Lady+Blue+2008.jpg" width="186" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2008/04/owl-release-is-abes-day-at-dads-work.html"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span>
</a><span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2008/04/owl-release-is-abes-day-at-dads-work.html">Abe's day at dad's work</a></span></div>
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<a href="https://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2008/04/owl-release-is-abes-day-at-dads-work.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqbSX7fiZP3P6U0Jg4ngcH1wSzsXkydTZIj0NNFcYDupJgVR_LIT-27Rwvsuhkieg11tfvwbW8o2OXqvuXf6udUyPWjYf8nTVPr07GLuHq9LooSui4VROUIHbZPfJ41Ew_aJz_S0QaCbw/s200/DSC_0045.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkysAos51UGQzCEZ7D7qwdG6mlBNz8bq1iNVOESS6acLcVDO9oB_ht44bYKJ92hRfbYzkxMjllMI3sZO-fBEbYhgRzNlCfrFTdD4rn5jsvgn12cs07mw2vSgRF10x6fihpl9RMkdQ6iA/s1600/Lady+Blue+2008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a>Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-82787886474337200192019-05-26T05:44:00.001-07:002019-05-26T05:45:38.651-07:00 Taking sides in survival of the fittest<h4>
By David Horst</h4>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1vTMWfwB5Id2V470T1iGJnOX3zQFFWKuK5U2VddA38az5F24wFIDqmxH_EoYMWJXbxjJiuuWvBvm7R6ppNxgavZBKw201XUmBpqvZmboS_NeUgEzRAm8yrF0w1SdCvk8VpJsE-eKQLY/s1600/deer+and+cranes+-+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="552" data-original-width="600" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1vTMWfwB5Id2V470T1iGJnOX3zQFFWKuK5U2VddA38az5F24wFIDqmxH_EoYMWJXbxjJiuuWvBvm7R6ppNxgavZBKw201XUmBpqvZmboS_NeUgEzRAm8yrF0w1SdCvk8VpJsE-eKQLY/s320/deer+and+cranes+-+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You never know what you'll see out of our <br />
window to wildlife</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That whole food chain/survival of the fittest thing looks a lot better in theory than on the hoof.<br />
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We were looking out the window to wildlife in our living room one evening. About 10 deer and a pair of sandhill cranes were out there. I believed them to be the same cranes we had seen several days earlier.</div>
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On that evening, one crane landed and then the other. The first started running in a straight line with its wings stretched out. It looked pretty threatening, so I assumed it was territorial. This display went on for a bit until it became clear these were not two males drawing a line in the sand. They were a couple having a roll in the hay. The show might happen again, so we were keeping an eye out.</div>
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The deer were acting oddly. They looked around nervously and flashed their flags – the white underside of their tails – signaling danger. Then the deer were on the move. They closed ranks and took off east. Shot from the brush came a low, brown, speeding figure. It was a coyote and it was gaining. It also was getting near to the cranes, 4-foot-tall birds that need some time and space to get airborne.</div>
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The coyote was just performing its role at the top of the food chain. Actually, they call it a food web now. It’s more complicated than just a straight chain. But seeing the coyote claim the rights that go with being at the top of the web was not going to be pretty.</div>
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As it turned out, the cranes took their cue from the deer and had made short work of getting up higher than a coyote’s leap. The deer bolted into the woods. The coyote made an about-face and raced back to the west.</div>
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The evening light was dimming, but the deer all appeared to have escaped, as had the cranes.</div>
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I’m perfectly aware that an individual one way or the other won’t make a bit of difference in the deer population. Coyotes gotta eat, too. But I was cheering for the deer.</div>
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Everybody still holds their positions on the food web, so the scene is likely to be repeated, possibly with a different ending.</div>
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The cranes returned quickly after the coyote disappeared. They settled down into the hay field. One stretched out its neck and ran with its head down.</div>
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That’s another force in nature that continues the food web.<br />
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Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-83879020295564142622019-04-14T13:57:00.002-07:002019-04-24T13:22:03.370-07:00Count on cranes to know weather<h4>
By David Horst</h4>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxCQ4X-MZsOAgbvDGu9okxGhjqrlJTBdixyPzbPgPVcgfr2TskEx8YTihiRr8AgISG3C1pQTa5yajol3cbc_hVxe2jdeA5f4poEHc4RbeY-E81bqRfZuy0kckXYg7Hj23-y-rL1a34mrc/s1600/1st+cranes+2019+-+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="1371" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxCQ4X-MZsOAgbvDGu9okxGhjqrlJTBdixyPzbPgPVcgfr2TskEx8YTihiRr8AgISG3C1pQTa5yajol3cbc_hVxe2jdeA5f4poEHc4RbeY-E81bqRfZuy0kckXYg7Hj23-y-rL1a34mrc/s320/1st+cranes+2019+-+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sandhill crane mating behavior </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #1d2129;">I took part in the annual <a href="http://www.savingcranes.org/">Midwest Crane Count</a> Saturday morning. That means being in place at your assigned counting area by 5:30 a.m. and staying there counting until 7:30 a.m.</span>At 33 degrees with a stiff wind, the sandhill cranes had the good sense to stay in the woods until 6:38 a.m.<br />
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Snow from this year’s April storm still lined the rows between the corn stubble. It was better than last year’s April storm, which prevented me from getting to my site.<br />
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After an hour of seeing no c<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">ranes, the weeds and fence posts start to take on that role, until you fine tune the focus on the spotting scope.</span>A good spotting scope is a big help on the crane count. The cranes aren’t really interested in being close to you. I could make out their figures in the morning light, but the scope allowed me to see what they were doing and get a more accurate count.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs2q-P5MlFeTjvBMT3seZa6zrJY-z8ylk7lTl3Ej0EjCBgAPz4ZJqD7Z5BoTMzsAFKfvZGh_v0OswWKnciJdaLqEpTfXHn0x_LvOeLnZkTnhc0AYpEInqcos4yqZxLIlL606Nr-q3TB3Q/s1600/cranes+2019+-+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs2q-P5MlFeTjvBMT3seZa6zrJY-z8ylk7lTl3Ej0EjCBgAPz4ZJqD7Z5BoTMzsAFKfvZGh_v0OswWKnciJdaLqEpTfXHn0x_LvOeLnZkTnhc0AYpEInqcos4yqZxLIlL606Nr-q3TB3Q/s320/cranes+2019+-+1.jpg" width="320" /></a>At 6:38 I finally saw two birds feeding in the field. By 6:50 there were four. At 6:58, six. At 7:10, 10 cranes. That would hold steady as my count, just as 33 held steady as the temperature.<br />
The behavior I recorded for all 10 was “walking and feeding.” In warmer years, I sometimes saw mating behavior — cranes hopping up and down with their wings spread, or even tossing a small stick into the air repeatedly. Hey, who’s to judge what turns on another species.<br />
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This year I left all of the checkboxes for mating behavior blank. But I was still out in nature, watching the morning come. And I had the company of 10 very large, impressive birds.<br />
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<h3>
Annual Midwest Crane Counts</h3>
<ul>
<li><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5786925391945570315#editor/target=post;postID=8387902029556414262">2019</a> (10 cranes)</li>
<li>2018 missed due to weather</li>
<li>2017 missed due to illness</li>
<li><a href="https://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2016/04/cranes-get-social.html">2016</a> (28 cranes)</li>
<li><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5786925391945570315#editor/target=post;postID=6535542105885404711">2015</a> (32 cranes)</li>
<li><a href="https://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2014/04/watch-morning-come-count-me-in.html">2014</a> (15 cranes)</li>
<li><a href="https://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2016/01/more-than-fog-hangs-over-crane-count.html">2012</a> (9 cranes)</li>
<li><a href="https://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2010/04/sandhills-mix-it-up-for-annual-crane.html">2010</a> (9 cranes, 1 county supervisor)</li>
<li><a href="https://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2019/04/crane-count-brought-rare-sighting.html">2009</a> (15 cranes, 2 children, 0 whining)</li>
<li><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5786925391945570315#editor/target=post;postID=3318208076595412604">2008</a> (26 cranes)</li>
</ul>
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<br />Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-5473592731495109442019-01-20T07:05:00.000-08:002019-01-20T08:11:43.568-08:00 The science of noticing stuff<h4>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By David Horst</span></h4>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I really love the concept of phenology.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This woodcook didn't check a phenology calendar.<br />
It came to our house with snow still on the ground.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The unscientific definition is you sit outdoors and notice
stuff. You do this every year and record the day the first bluebird arrives or when
the owls start their winter hooting. The possibilities are as endless as the
list of plant and animal species.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Over the years, you build a calendar of when all of these
“firsts” happen and check if the dates change.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Friends recently bought us a copy of the phenology calendar
sold by the Aldo Leopold Foundation. The pioneer environmentalist was an avid
recorder of events in nature. He even knew from using a light meter that it was
at precisely at 0.50 foot-candles of light during sunset that the woodcocks on
his central Wisconsin farm would start their mating behavior, which involves a
male woodcock diving from high altitude and folding his wings just so to create
an eerie whistling sound. You can read about that in the essay “Sky Dance” in Leopold’s
literary treasure A Sand County Almanac.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Having the calendar adds to our daily breakfast table a
recitation of the day’s nature events. The Leopold Foundation is near Baraboo,
so the dates all reflect what’s happening in the Madison area. We are a few
days behind that here in the Fox Valley.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Checking the recent entries on Sunday suggested the more
modest among you should walk through the woods with your eyes covered in the
coming week. Wednesday, Jan. 23, the red foxes begin mating. It’s hard enough
to see foxes in the wild so an embarrassing encounter is unlikely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Wolves get frisky on Jan. 24. This brings to mind the mating
practices of Klingons on Star Trek.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Beavers will be at it Jan. 25 and lynx the next day. Gray
and fox squirrels get to it Jan. 28, as if there aren’t enough of them already.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Other than Canada geese arriving Friday – and with the
number of resident Canada geese we have, that’s no big deal -- the week in
phenology is all about doing the nasty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">February will bring bluebirds, turkey vultures and skunk
cabbage, at least in the Madison area. Before the last bite of toast is
swallowed, we’ll know to look for them.</span></div>
Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-12706444878657584012018-07-13T15:20:00.000-07:002018-07-13T15:20:15.173-07:00Do Llamas Get Along with Cats?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-68314980059579097712018-06-18T05:56:00.004-07:002018-06-18T14:02:57.811-07:00Upper Fox 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Northeast Wisconsin Padders (NEWP) organized a weekend paddle on the weekend of May 19-20.</div>
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<span style="color: #353b48; font-family: "raleway"; font-size: 16px;">Saturday, we launched at the White River Dam, near Princeton, and traveled the 13 miles to River Side Park in the City of Berlin, WI. Due to heavy rain and snowmelt, the Fox River was very high. At the takeout, we cruised over submerged sidewalks and pulled up directly on the grass. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #353b48; font-family: "raleway"; font-size: 16px;">Sunday, we launched where we had finished the day before and paddled another 13 miles to Omro, with a lunch stop at the Berlin</span><span style="color: #353b48; font-family: raleway; font-size: 16px;"> Dam. For my money, this is the most beautiful stretch of the Fox.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #353b48; font-family: "raleway"; font-size: 16px;"><i>Photos by Ron Starkey</i></span></div>
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<br />Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-2947738516120922332018-05-21T06:05:00.000-07:002018-06-18T04:56:43.684-07:00Season's first paddle had some on, some in the Waupaca River<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKg9fwXyi1XLJax0aVl_tYV2DPUJA36ytGLSCMyH49GX0qEICp-NEalcbb6-IkqQZ7533sggxWgdFlZi5dNrcSBkQPHEib89lnTD6EdjrpuEUCQRGwxV14UoftOIw6RHRf-xP6R3gkAFo/s1600/Waupaca+River+finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="720" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKg9fwXyi1XLJax0aVl_tYV2DPUJA36ytGLSCMyH49GX0qEICp-NEalcbb6-IkqQZ7533sggxWgdFlZi5dNrcSBkQPHEib89lnTD6EdjrpuEUCQRGwxV14UoftOIw6RHRf-xP6R3gkAFo/s400/Waupaca+River+finish.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Waupaca River delivers one more class 1 rapids at the end.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>By David Horst</b><br /><a href="mailto:sandhill7@gmail.com">sandhill7@gmail.com</a> </span><br />
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It has to be said. We got some people wet.<br />
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The kickoff to the North East Wisconsin Paddlers 2018 Public Paddle series on May 5 was a little more challenging than our usual afternoon outings on a lazy river.<br />
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We opened the season with a segment of the Waupaca River from County Q to Brainard's Bridge Park, just upstream of the City of Waupaca. It includes a few sections classified as class 1 rapids, the lowest category in the whitewater rating scale.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ken plays in the segment's final rapids</td></tr>
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The pre-trip description on our website (<a href="http://www.wisconsinpaddlers.org/">www.wisconsinpaddlers.org</a>) warned that this trip was not for novices. As a result, our count was held down to 23 participants -- both when we launched and when we took out. We encouraged people to leave the bent wood and Kevlar kayaks at home and dig up the old plastic beater instead. It was good advice.<br />
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My trusty old Perception Carolina took a hard smack from rocks on both sides. The acrylic-covered plastic that it's made of absorbed the punishment without damage. I also got hung up on a rock at one point and trapped by a downed tree at another. But I stayed dry.<br />
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It's amazing how quickly your muscle memory can forget a lesson your brain knows so well.<br />
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I know that when you get caught on something in the current, you lean downstream into the obstruction. To lean upstream is to invite the river into your cockpit.<br />
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But when the fallen tree snagged me, my instinct was to lean away from it to try to get free. One of our NEWP instructors was nearby and shouted a reminder that kept the water on the outside, where it belonged.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There was plenty to talk about on this trip.</td></tr>
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Others were less lucky. Either leaning the wrong way or paddling without a sprayskirt to seal them into their boats -- or with one not fully fastened -- the water rushed in, the boat overturned and the <a href="https://www.americancanoe.org/default.aspx">American Canoe Association</a>-certified instructors that belong to NEWP were off to help another paddler.<br />
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No one was injured among the half-dozen or so kayak flippers. The worst of it was a couple gulps of prime trout stream. They had some experience. They had some people to help them. And they were all wearing PFDs (lifejackets) as we require on all our trips.<br />
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Any one of those three factors lacking can spell tragedy.<br />
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When someone did go over, others came to calm the paddler, secure and empty the boat and get the paddler back in the boat and on his or her way. Wading to shore and giving up on the trip was not an option we offered.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPjwnNP1pe1_rwvpRolpWErzwgh5QQ4se16_Q9-vpUmzBi7w0jWAKtoFOCccNDSn7zY43bBAgW_64J7CGQ1-_HePs2gWCc0CGwsi7g_HA4jKUmht5jCvLoM3-vSXC6APQ86znQdQ-bck4/s1600/Waupaca+River+2018+portaging+-+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPjwnNP1pe1_rwvpRolpWErzwgh5QQ4se16_Q9-vpUmzBi7w0jWAKtoFOCccNDSn7zY43bBAgW_64J7CGQ1-_HePs2gWCc0CGwsi7g_HA4jKUmht5jCvLoM3-vSXC6APQ86znQdQ-bck4/s320/Waupaca+River+2018+portaging+-+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Portaging around the covered bridge</td></tr>
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One of the swirly sections of river was just below a picturesque covered wooden bridge near the end of the trip. With the snow of the April blizzard still releasing the last of its moisture content and a week of heavy rain, the Waupaca was in the record range for flow and depth.<br />
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When I scouted the route immediately before the launch, I found 8-10 inches of clearance under the covered bridge and warned everyone we would have to portage around it.<br />
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But the Waupaca drains a fairly modest watershed and three hours later, the clearance was j-u-s-t about the height of a head pressed against the deck of a kayak.<br />
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The first to arrive at the covered bridge was Tom Young, who with wife Jeanne paddled the lone canoe on this trip. In a rare show of gallantry, he took Jeanne to shore before attempting to run the rapids under the bridge. Though he did suggest she would be valuable as ballast.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwv_IBaRy2u6gRGJSNGvfJB4jniPIaCechR3nSYGRcDWrj7aQS0YcR5Zl8Ylao2x523LnV8Td4W7PMdpJwhpWn0c2D0l5IFA75krSzp5MIxTzpjvCTezj6yFe8H2tVvAd4tE-mDr4vAnE/s1600/Waupaca-River-survival.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1174" data-original-width="1434" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwv_IBaRy2u6gRGJSNGvfJB4jniPIaCechR3nSYGRcDWrj7aQS0YcR5Zl8Ylao2x523LnV8Td4W7PMdpJwhpWn0c2D0l5IFA75krSzp5MIxTzpjvCTezj6yFe8H2tVvAd4tE-mDr4vAnE/s320/Waupaca-River-survival.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making it through was reason for celebration.</td></tr>
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From now on, Tom will be "The Headless Canoeist" in my book. He made it through, but only because of a perfectly timed move in which he threw his weight against the canoe's bottom with just enough force to lower the tip of the bow below the bottom of the bridge.<br />
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About half of the kayakers followed his lead. I was watching from the left bank, where I had portaged.<br />
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We had one more class 1 rapids, probably the most challenging, immediately before the takeout. A few weary paddlers took out and dragged their boats along shore. Most shot the rapids. One concluded the final class 1 passage without the benefit of his boat.<br />
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Afterwards, I heard from formerly soggy participants that they enjoyed the trip anyway. They said they learned an important lesson -- they can flip their kayak, perform a wet exit and get back in to finish a trip.<br />
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You probably won't see this stretch of the Waupaca on the club schedule again. It would be challenging for many of those who join our public paddles. But it certainly will be on our personal lists of spring adventures.<br />
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<i>See the full list of this season's public paddles at <a href="http://wisconsinpaddlers.org/public-paddles/">wisconsinpaddlers.org</a>.</i><br />
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<br />Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-89539939729311737002018-05-18T04:44:00.004-07:002018-05-18T04:47:34.438-07:00<h2 style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Back to back</span></h2>
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<b>Coming soon: </b>Another story in Wisconsin Natural Resources Magazine.</div>
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This one tells the story of Howard Greene's journals of canoe trips </div>
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taken in the early 1900s with "The Gang." </div>
<br />Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-24138247008656963692018-04-11T06:05:00.004-07:002018-04-11T06:05:34.578-07:00Gordon featured in magazine story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdVr4W9J5M4OazqUMQwVFOzikKqaiSB-UYyuSrnon9_l7yQEtcRQj3h1amDmx7-zUWF30QI7ApbolSgIppb5pDK8vHXZS6SO-_iGsEbODVOKuRR32f7sk4B7MEki4Sbiz-2NKoeNLCANI/s1600/2018-SPR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="240" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdVr4W9J5M4OazqUMQwVFOzikKqaiSB-UYyuSrnon9_l7yQEtcRQj3h1amDmx7-zUWF30QI7ApbolSgIppb5pDK8vHXZS6SO-_iGsEbODVOKuRR32f7sk4B7MEki4Sbiz-2NKoeNLCANI/s200/2018-SPR.jpg" width="153" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://dnr.wi.gov/wnrmag/" style="text-align: start;">http://dnr.wi.gov/wnrmag/</a><span style="text-align: start;"> </span></div>
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My story on Gordon Bubolz, conservative businessman and conservationist, is in the current issue of Wisconsin Natural Resources Magazine. Check out the list of 10 NE Wisconsin natural areas that we have Gordon to thank for acquiring.<br />
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<br />Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-83241624461048715062018-01-29T07:44:00.001-08:002018-05-23T05:30:56.574-07:00Father’s journals recall camping a century ago<h4>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">By David Horst, <a href="mailto:sandhill7@gmail.com">sandhill7@gmail.com</a></span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">DE PERE -- Author Martha Greene Phillips is extraordinarily attached to history.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Her father was 79 when she was born. She is just one generation removed from a man who was alive as the Civil War was ending and served in the Spanish-American War.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Martha Greene Phillips</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There’s an even stronger connection -- eight leather-bound journals of canoe excursions her father took with a group of friends, his sons and his sons’ friends. She turned the journals into Border Country, the Northwoods Canoe Journals of Howard Greene, 1906-1916, University of Minnesota Press. The 408-page history includes 366 photos, plus maps and sketches, and fully reproduces six of Howard’s journals, with summaries of the other two.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She described the book and her father’s adventures in a presentation at the North East Wisconsin Paddlers annual meeting Saturday (Jan. 27) at Legends in De Pere. NEWP (www.wisconsinpaddlers.com) is a nonprofit dedicated to advancing paddle sport education and safety and the sponsor of kayaking instruction and an annual series of public paddles.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Howard Greene</span></td></tr>
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Howard Greene, born in 1865, ran a wholesale drug company in Milwaukee. In his day, that meant dealing mostly with herbs and other botanicals. His release from the rigors of running a business was to take trips into nature. Three or four men and four to eight boys, paddling off into the wilderness for four weeks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Howard – or Dad, as everyone in “The Gang” on the trips called him – shot photographs and took notes throughout the trips and produced leather-bound journals for each participant. The trips included:</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Wisconsin River, Wis. (1906)</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">St. Croix River, Wis. (1907)</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Presque Isle River, Mich. (1909)</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Rainy Lake Region – Ely to Ranier, Minn. (1910)</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Dawson Trail, Canada (1911)</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Pigeon River, Duluth, Minn. (1914)</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tower to Ranier, Minn. (1915)</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Chippewa River, Wis. (1916)</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Martha Greene Phillips – Marti – lives in Portage. She is a retired mental health counselor. She acquired a full set of those journals, added forwards, footnotes and a lot of research, to create the book.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In Greene’s day, photographing nature was nothing like pointing a digital camera and making it work with Photoshop later. He processed 4-by-8-inch negatives, and even glass plates, out on the river banks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Some of the boys participating in the trips were Phillips’ half-brothers. There’s no way girls would have been included, but when Marti read of their adventures, “I was so envious of the boys,” she said. Their experience was one of total freedom in nature.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She knew about the journals growing up. They were almost revered in the household.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“There was a lore in the family,” Marti said. “My dad wrote very well.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Marti was 13 when her father died at age 93. He had been a very involved father, she said, so her five years of work with the journals only confirmed for her that he was the same man in his younger years, rather than revealing the man to her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I wasn’t looking for that,” she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The journals featured other characters she enjoyed getting to know.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There was Doc, a gynecologist who has an avid hunter and collected art. One of her half-brothers grew up to run for governor and another boy became a prominent Chicago lawyer. Carl, another of her half-brothers, went off to World War I, suffered what was then called “shell shock” and never fully recovered his sanity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Marti makes the distinction that these were not the kind of trips when men of privilege took guides and servants into the woods and came back to the club to brag about bagging a moose. Howard’s gang did take a logging camp cook along, but their adventures were self-reliant.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They engaged farmers with teams and wagons at some of the portages. As educated men, the group knew about plant identification. They also recorded the species of birds and other animals they saw. In one four-week wilderness trip they encountered only one deer, but saw many moose.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A list prepared for a customs check for a trip into Canada details what their menu was like. Items on the list included three pounds of coffee, four pounds of tea, 10 pounds of navy beans, two boxes of chocolate, 30 pounds of bacon, a dozen cans of Underwood devilled tongue, 50 pounds of oleomargerine and 25 pounds of California prunes. They carried wool blankets for bed rolls. Sleeping bags were just starting to be available. Their canvas tents had no floors or mosquito netting. They carried shellac and white lead to patch their canvas canoes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Marti did substantial research just to understand some of the terminology of the day. They spoke of eating dynamite. That turned out to be sort of a de-watered pea soup stuffed into sausage skins, giving them the appearance of a stick of dynamite. It was kind of the power bar of its day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She praised the job the University of Minnesota press did in designing and laying out the $40 book, but also owes a debt to the Wisconsin Historical Society. One of her brothers had accumulated the photographic negatives and was making prints. A fire at his house destroyed almost all of the negatives. The Wisconsin Historical Society agreed to shoot all of the available prints to make them available for printing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She said publishing her father’s collection verified her feeling that the journals were important and historically influential. Her father summed it up this way:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Experience in fields, camps, and sundry places has taught me that the best form of recuperation for a tired mind and body is to break loose from the usual manner of life and to go away with men who live outdoors in the great open places where the postman does not come. … I admit that in the years since our last camps on Lake Superior, I had grown weary, I wanted to go to places not clearly marked between night rests, the distance and a day’s travel by horse and pack train.” </span></div>
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Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-78829391084000270102017-10-22T14:58:00.003-07:002017-10-22T15:14:15.067-07:00October paddle extends the season<h4>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
By David Horst </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"> sandhill7@gmail.com</span></h4>
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A day in mid-October with a forecast of sun and temperatures in the low 70s. Not something you pass up. It needed to be a paddle weekend.</div>
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I emailed paddle buddy Jeff Mazanec and made plans for a short trip.<br />
We settled on the Waupaca River from Weyauwega to Decker Park.<br />
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Coincidentally, this is one of our routes for the 2018 North East Wisconsin Paddlers public paddles. We needed a location, so why not pick one that we could scout for the group. Jeff, of Grand Chute, has an even stronger sense of responsibility (and so does the third main planner of this series, Tom Young of Fox Crossing) than I do, so he was fine with that.</div>
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The launch area is just below the dam that forms Lake Weyauwega. It’s on the north side of the river, at the foot of the grain tower that is painted with symbols of the area’s history.</div>
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A narrow path, maybe five yards long, leads down to a small pier about the right height for launching a canoe, but on the treacherous side for dropping down into a kayak. The flow is swift and the rocks slippery, but we managed to launch without contributing to the blooper reel.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paddling the Waupaca</td></tr>
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The route out of town takes you past the bread and butter of Weyauwega – Agropur cheese and Presto Products. Also Weyauwega-Fremont High School. Then on to rural beauty.</div>
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<br />
The first section of river has some ripples. They’d have to grow up quite a bit to be rapids, but they do signal underwater rocks best avoided. Other sections turn suddenly shallow with mucky sand slippery enough to glide through, until you push it too far and have to step out into the quicksand. We didn’t push it that far, but almost.</div>
<div>
<br />
Jeff always takes sweep on our group paddles. He’s the last guy, making sure no one gets left behind and offering a tow to anyone who is struggling.</div>
<div>
<br />
Today, he alternates between lead and sweep. There are only the two of us.<br />
As fun as it is to fill a river with paddlers, sharing a river with just us is a refreshing change. We have time to talk – not just about who needs help or a paddler slipping off his PFD in violation of our rules. Today our conversation is about our families, our memories, our aspirations. </div>
<div>
<br />
I didn’t even bring a camera.</div>
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<br />
Jeff observes the river is wide enough that we aren’t likely to have downed trees block our way. The thought has hardly slipped off of his tongue when we swing around a bend to see tree trunk stretching across the channel.</div>
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Far river right there is a passage about twice the width of a kayak.</div>
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Time and time again we would encounter a tree and see the passage reveal itself.</div>
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<br />
Even with fall getting ready to entrench itself, signs of wildlife were everywhere. Pointy beaver sticks littered the shoreline. Patches of mud were scribed with a mosaic of footprints from beavers, muskrats and deer.</div>
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<br />
Great blue herons took the point for the first half our trip. I can confidently say herons, plural, but could not venture what part of the count should be credited to great blues who flew ahead and emerged again.</div>
<div>
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We never saw the bald eagle that usually graces our group trips. Instead, an osprey cruises the wind currents.</div>
<div>
<br />
“An osprey is worth two eagles,” Jeff pronounces. Definitely in a bar fight, I was thinking. This osprey is pushing the migration window. Most would have headed toward Mexico and points further south by now, but a few linger through October.</div>
<div>
<br />
We twist and turn through the final length of the Waupaca before it anonymously slips into the Wolf River.<br />
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The first inlet is populated with campers. Around a peninsula stands Gill’s Landing, a bar and restaurant. We land there. Many of the patrons have taken to the deck to soak in this extra summer day in October.</div>
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We join them to toast a day that cheated the end of paddle season.<br />
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Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-37182856577126513642017-07-02T11:46:00.002-07:002017-07-02T11:47:48.745-07:00Water, water everywhere<b>By David Horst</b> <a href="mailto:sandhill7@gmail.com">sandhill7@gmail.com</a><br />
<br />
We set out knowing we would be rained on.<br />
<br />
One of the glories of kayaking is it doesn't matter if it rains. Your boat and your sprayskirt cover the bottom half of you and your raincoat and hat shelter the rest.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjunFrTm2V4W8XbDz3gyik-iAjLgLWgl952ZYNACboGDgPbpYKYSnTLKRhPx4aJ1ZfXNAtONW4Fi-R-HX1oU1w0ZFJVYnFGCOEWhfyPBuTNwrSwrNl-pASc8agDQlQdlkq3nv0rPkmsoCQ/s1600/Flowage+Scott+2017+-+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="1600" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjunFrTm2V4W8XbDz3gyik-iAjLgLWgl952ZYNACboGDgPbpYKYSnTLKRhPx4aJ1ZfXNAtONW4Fi-R-HX1oU1w0ZFJVYnFGCOEWhfyPBuTNwrSwrNl-pASc8agDQlQdlkq3nv0rPkmsoCQ/s320/Flowage+Scott+2017+-+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
We were paddling the Caldron Falls pool of the Peshtigo Flowage -- one of eight days of paddling organized by <a href="http://www.wisconsinpaddlers.org/" target="_blank">North East Wisconsin Paddlers</a> this season.<br />
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Camping at Gov. Thompson State Park, we are paddling an 8-mile out-and-back route Saturday and the High Falls pool on Sunday. Today's route is landing #13 to landing #12 and back.<br />
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The clouds were gathering and the forecast has made thunderstorms a certainty. But, remember, <a href="http://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2017/05/turning-cold-shoulder-to-forecasters.html" target="_blank">I no longer trust weather forecasters</a>.<br />
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On the way back the rain started. It got harder. An<br />
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<a name='more'></a>d it got harder yet. Buckets of rain water were falling from the air. It seemed like there was no room for any more rain.<br />
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I joked that you didn't need to put your paddle into the lake because there was just as much water above the surface as below.<br />
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Then the thought: What if this turned to hail? Ouch!<br />
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It didn't.<br />
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Had there been lightning, we would have immediately headed for shore. Rain is just part of the experience.<br />
<br />
Later, fellow event planner Tom Young told the 30 or so participants that they had just finished an important confidence-building experience. If they could endure through rain this intense, they had nothing to fear in paddling in the rain in the future. They had been there, done it.<br />
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That's the confidence in numbers that come with these trips. You see other people doing it, and you know skilled paddlers who are certified safety instructors are with you. When you paddle again in smaller groups, confidence comes along.<br />
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<b>FALSE CONFIDENCE:</b> No matter how much confidence you have going into a paddle, follow these precautionary steps:<br />
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<ul>
<li>Paddle with a buddy.</li>
<li>Let someone on land know your approximate route, take-out point and arrival time.</li>
<li>Always, always, at all times wear your PFD (personal floating device or lifejacket).</li>
<li>Use your sprayskirt. It keeps water out of your cockpit and can make the difference between a lean and a flip.</li>
<li>Learn on-water rescue and self-rescue techniques. </li>
</ul>
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<br />Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-4492502245610573402017-06-28T05:31:00.001-07:002017-07-01T05:29:51.792-07:00Consty's story ends<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">By David Horst <a href="mailto:sandhill7@gmail.com">sandhill7@gmail.com</a> </span></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="font-size: small;">An experience can be difficult, end badly and still be worth it. So it is with the last chapter of Consty’s story.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJirzLBdOgC3BhdZAioTCzNWot2iwtibMX9k3pLsm2LYmsBBNoV5kOfDqTdPSq4itdWVjBXa9DDyKEwasIpwz1glIqfVf8gJPgWzxr-e5Gq3ugJ55ZHp8zJ4Ilq8Jmj40LSuz6EWwR6Ms/s1600/Constylastchapter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="485" data-original-width="576" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJirzLBdOgC3BhdZAioTCzNWot2iwtibMX9k3pLsm2LYmsBBNoV5kOfDqTdPSq4itdWVjBXa9DDyKEwasIpwz1glIqfVf8gJPgWzxr-e5Gq3ugJ55ZHp8zJ4Ilq8Jmj40LSuz6EWwR6Ms/s320/Constylastchapter.jpg" width="320" /></a><span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Constellatione has been with us for 17 years. Toward the end of last year, he started having difficulty walking. His feet would go every which way when he took a step. In early March, he went down and was unable to get himself back up.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">After <a href="http://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2017/03/llama-needs-hope-to-remain-faithful.html" target="_blank">desperate day of him being outside</a> in high winds, we were able to help him walk into the barn with the assistance of our vet and a young intern. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">At first, the diagnosis was that Consty had a parasite that attacks the spine. Later, it was determined that a cancerous tumor was pressing on his spine. Either way, he couldn’t stand.</span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">A routine developed of us <a href="http://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2017/03/neighbor-helps-keep-hope-alive.html" target="_blank">lifting him with a cattle sling</a> and an electric winch twice a day to keep blood flow to his legs. It also seemed to refresh his spirit. He would use his regained height to look out the doorway at what his herdmates were doing or check out the bird activity.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">We had to look in on him regularly to see if he had fallen on his side — a position that’s not healthy for llamas for an extended period of time — and lift him back upright. Installing a surveillance camera in the barn allowed us to check remotely using our smart phones. Those checks included trips out to the barn in the middle of the night and making the 50-minute round trip home from work at lunchtime.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMmrunFTiGJbc3xqBdsH1uF5CJ-Wyu3eWWWsOH9Ee54MsRhHvFPn-h2ClG8Zt3E0Cb6geQFub4en0MTY_2vxEyzqRFVgGLRLhKF2x_Xo2ML-SuVUe072cUSUYjcYjzNHm-zuHnsPtqNzc/s1600/Constyinbarn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="216" data-original-width="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMmrunFTiGJbc3xqBdsH1uF5CJ-Wyu3eWWWsOH9Ee54MsRhHvFPn-h2ClG8Zt3E0Cb6geQFub4en0MTY_2vxEyzqRFVgGLRLhKF2x_Xo2ML-SuVUe072cUSUYjcYjzNHm-zuHnsPtqNzc/s1600/Constyinbarn.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">It was on one of those lunchtime runs that I came home, put a hand under his neck and under his body to lift and saw fixed and dilated pupils looking back at me. Consty had passed.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">It was three months after he first went down. We knew all along that he wasn’t going to recover. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Still, it was a shock.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">That morning’s lift had gone extraordinarily well. We left him looking bright-eyed and sitting up taller than he had in many days. He was munching his "greens" -- grass and clover snipped from the field and delivered to him.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Those were our measures of hope. They turned out to be Consty’s last rally.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">To keep it all in perspective, I think about standing in a pet supply store back in March, looking at absorbent pads to put under Consty. A llama would normally stand to relieve himself, which wasn’t an option for him. We wanted to minimize how much he would get on himself.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The pads came in quantities of 50 and 150. I reached for the smaller pack, figuring that at two a day, we’d never go beyond 50. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">We used them up and went back for the larger pack more than once. We’re convinced our efforts extended his life and gave us more days that included our big man.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Consty was the largest — but the most gentle — of our llamas. Despite his friendly disposition with people, he would not hesitate to exercise his size advantage to keep order in the herd.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Anyone at a real farm operation — frankly, most people anywhere — would look at our situation and think we went overboard. That it was taking a lot of trouble to keep him living not a full life for a llama.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">But that’s a conclusion people make without having looked into those eyes. His bright, clear eyes reflected an animal still full of life. We couldn’t look into them and say, “Your time is up.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">These are individual choices, and I wouldn’t judge others for taking a different path. The routine of lifts and position checks severely limited our lives for those three months, but they meant continuing Consty’s. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">It wasn’t that big of a deal, and it brought us very close to another living being.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Consty’s story ends here, but the effects of our hours spent meeting his needs when he was helpless to do it himself will stay with us. So will the appreciation of the neighboring farmers who lent us the sling, the people who helped us to lift him, the vets who treated him and the many people who asked about him and expressed concern.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Consty had an effect on them as well. Those three months had purpose for him and for all of us.</span></span></div>
Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-26723328823562322772017-05-22T08:01:00.001-07:002017-06-11T05:09:23.495-07:00Turning a cold shoulder to forecasters<div class="p1">
<h3>
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><b>By David Horst</b> <a href="mailto:sandhill7@gmail.com"><span class="s2">sandhill7@gmail.com</span></a></span></span></h3>
<div>
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><a href="mailto:sandhill7@gmail.com"><span class="s2"><br /></span></a></span></span></div>
<div>
We had a very nice paddle Sunday — a small, intimate group, strong flow in the river and the wind at our backs.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">More on that, but first, I have to let loose of some rage.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Last Thursday — 48 hours before a weekend with two paddles scheduled on the Upper Fox River — the forecast for the Princeton area was unequivocal. From 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. Saturday, between 70% and 90% chance of thunderstorms. I’d never seen such a dramatically certain forecast telling padders to stay off of the water.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1n0muy3HvVG5vJ6pFMsNTop5i-fBXl_t9_Gd0vc9cgvOoYxX13q6yfye12oKp7CyVtsc6RmZNaStN5rZwLQjrvWjuJec-y9Ej_Dbf-gjf3ttoJEmkHavySQsjLuyaHFxxKwgxk1C3TuE/s1600/Three+Dams+-+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1n0muy3HvVG5vJ6pFMsNTop5i-fBXl_t9_Gd0vc9cgvOoYxX13q6yfye12oKp7CyVtsc6RmZNaStN5rZwLQjrvWjuJec-y9Ej_Dbf-gjf3ttoJEmkHavySQsjLuyaHFxxKwgxk1C3TuE/s400/Three+Dams+-+1.jpg" width="400" /></a><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">As organizers of the North East Wisconsin Paddlers public paddle series, our course was clear. We needed to call off Saturday’s trip for the safety of the participants and to give ample notice to people traveling from farther away. You don’t argue with 90% certainty of thunder and lightning. We posted the messages on web and Facebook and sent emails to everyone we expected to come.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">I joked with fellow trip organizer Jeff Mazanec that by canceling the trip we probably guaranteed Princeton would see no thunderstorms Saturday.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">My prediction turned out to be the only one that was correct.</span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">I will never, never, ever trust a weather forecaster again. Not Steve in the morning nor George at night. Not Pete, nor Cameron, nor even kindly Dave Miller. Not Accuweather, not Weather.com, not Weather Underground.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Not even if John Chandik himself reached out to me from retirement.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">By Friday, the 90% certainty for morning storms turned to rain to start the day and thunderboomers by 1 p.m. By Friday evening, the forecast for Princeton, WI, was pretty much: “We might see some rain tomorrow.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">I’m not going to say Saturday morning was pleasant. There was some rain, even heavy at times. No thunder. No lightning. It was 90% hogwash. These are weather conditions in which we would have paddled and then exaggerated later about the tough conditions we had incurred.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">You will not see future go-no go decisions based on any forecaster’s hourly predictions. We’ll decide by standing at the launch location looking up and seeing if any bright lights crack across the horizon.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">I feel better now.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">We salvaged what we could of what we were calling the Three Good Dams Paddle — Princeton Dam to White River Dam on day one and White RIver Dam to Berlin Dam on day two. We rescheduled what was to be Saturday’s paddle to Sunday and won’t make up the Sunday route, which we have traveled several times before.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Back to Sunday. It was a small group of competent paddlers — an even dozen of us — so we moved quickly and stayed together as a group. The high water gave us a good push.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">This is a good birding section of the river. We were serenaded by orioles, redwing blackbirds, sandhill cranes and the raucous call of a woodpecker. In the class of “big birds,” we had turkey vultures, red-tailed hawks, a great blue heron, osprey and a bunch of immature bald eagles. We saw four immatures together and at least one mature bird. There may have been more, depending upon how many times we were seeing return visitors. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">A cormorant repeatedly took up a position ahead of us, body low in the water and black head angled up.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">It was a bit chilly on the water when the sun went behind a cloud — which was most of the time. But the wildlife, the scenery, the conversation left no one wishing they were back on shore.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">That’s how the trip was received, and that’s how the next one will go. That’s a prediction you can count on. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">UP NEXT: The <a href="http://wisconsinpaddlers.org/public-paddles/peshtigo-flowage-weekend-2/" target="_blank">Peshtigo Flowage weekend</a> - June 24-25</span></span></div>
Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-43287386417556985412017-05-15T03:36:00.000-07:002017-06-11T05:10:49.717-07:00Horicon Marsh holds bird life and historyHoricon Marsh is a huge pool among the nation’s fresh water marshes – the largest, in fact. But it also holds a tremendous volume of history.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/foxriverpaddle/albums/72157680307791294" target="_blank">See more photos.</a></td></tr>
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Few are better equipped to recite that history than Bill Volkert, who retired after 27 years as a naturalist in the state portion of the marsh. Why there is state and federal sections is part of the difficult history of the place.<br />
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We retained Volkert to talk about Horicon’s twisted history and lead North East Wisconsin Paddlers’ first public paddle of the 2017 schedule on May 6. The trip drew 67 paddlers, many on their first NEWP paddle.<br />
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Volkert told of a visitor to the marsh who remarked on how wonderful it was that we – the royal WE – had preserved all of this wonderful wetland. That’s when Volkert recited the list of attempts by WE to make the marsh knuckle under. <br />
Known now for its Canada goose population, Horicon of the early 1800s was prime duck territory. The first assault on the marsh was hunting clubs with shotguns of such a low gauge that a single shot could bring down as many as 50 birds. Understand, this was after centuries of Native American habitation.<br />
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WE built a dam in 1846 to power a sawmill. That created Lake Horicon. A court battle did in that plan, as the people who flooded the land faced a court order to pay the people who owned the land for their losses or put a hole in the dam. As sure as if it were hit by a 6-gauge shotgun, the dam went down.<br />
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If WE can’t flood it, let’s drain it.<br />
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The next idea – 1910 -- was to farm Horicon, growing root vegetables in the deep peat soil. A couple of wet growing seasons doomed the greening of Horicon. Drawing down the water exposed the peat dried it out and made it susceptible to fire. One burned for three years.<br />
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So it wasn’t so much that we preserved Horicon but that Horicon refused to be tamed. That’s when the state decided in 1927 to make it a natural area. Funding ran short, so they turned to the federal government. Fourteen years later, the feds agreed to acquire twice as much more to the north, but decided to hold onto control.<br />
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The marsh also refuses to be navigated.<br />
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Water flowing in from the Rock River – and there’s plenty of it this year – can change the path of the channels in the marsh. That even fooled the master. At one point, the first became last as we hit a dead-end bay and had to turn around. Our seven-mile paddle turned into more like eight. Volkert knows enough detail about the marsh, its history and everything about its bird life to fill.<br />
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He was the lead paddler, so only a small part of the group was able to paddle next to him and benefit from his expertise. When I made my way from mid-pack up to within shouting range, I asked him if he’d seen any interesting birds. I was feeling good about already having counted a kingfisher, turkey vulture, red-tailed hawk, a great blue heron rookery and a variety of songbirds.<br />
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“I’ve identified 40 birds,” Volkert said, deflating my bird bubble. He has the unfair advantage of knowing most of the marsh’s birds by their song. Identifying by ear without sight is legal in birding circles.<br />
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At the pre-launch gathering, we challenged our paddlers to keep Volkert talking for the whole trip. “That’s never been a problem,” he joked. Or at least I thought he was joking.<br />
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He is capable of delivering flat-toned recitation about birds, where they migrate, when they return, how they nest and their population prospects for the future and fill eight miles easy. His command of dates, names and details is impressive.<br />
It was totally enjoyable to be part of a blink in time at the marsh. That’s one bit of history likely to repeat itself.<br />
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<b>UP NEXT:</b> The Three Good Dams Paddle will travel the upper Fox River from the Princeton Dam to the White River Dam, none miles, on Saturday, May 20, and continue on Sunday, May 21, 10.5 miles to the Berlin Dam. Camping is available at Mecan River Outfitters.<br />
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Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-52762871226250903182017-04-19T07:12:00.000-07:002017-04-19T18:47:12.481-07:002017 paddle season set<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><i>The 2017 Heritage Paddle schedule is now available. New paddles for the upcoming season include a naturalist-led tour of Horicon Marsh May 6 and two days on the Upper Fox River May 20-21 that we're calling -- to please the censors -- the Three Good Dams Paddle. It will take us from the Princeton Dam to the White River Dam one day, and White River to the Berlin Dam the next. Old favorites will be back -- including two days in the Peshtigo Flowage June 24-25, the 16th annual Park to Park Paddle July 22, a Moonlight Paddle from De Pere to Green Bay Aug. 4 and the Appleton Locks Paddle on Appleton's Octoberfest Saturday, Sept. 30. See times and other details at <a href="http://www.wisconsinpaddlers.com/" target="_blank">www.wisconsinpaddlers.com</a></i></span>.</h3>
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Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-14042542151040733692017-03-27T20:12:00.003-07:002017-03-28T12:33:06.052-07:00Hope gives way to compassion<h4>
<b>By David Horst</b> <a href="mailto:sandhill7@gmail.com">sandhill7@gmail.com</a></h4>
Hope gave way to compassion last Thursday.<br />
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We were barely into the barn when the vet pronounced hope was gone.<br />
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"We're in hospice mode now," she concluded.<br />
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Our 17-year-old llama, Constellatione, has not been able to stand on his own for several weeks now. In the world of a natural prey animal like a llama, that's a fatal flaw.</div>
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We've been holding out hope that lifting him daily with a cattle sling and an electric winch would get the strength back into his legs so we could see him grazing in the pasture once again.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>He had been knocked down by a systemwide infection caused by an impacted tooth. At his age, a trip to the UW Vet School in Madison to have a tooth extracted is out of the question. Antibiotics and blankets had knocked back the infection, but the extra stress on his healing powers allowed his underlying neurological problem to advance. A parasite -- probably from deer droppings -- invaded his body and began affecting his movements early in the winter. That's the best theory anyway.<br />
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The vet said he is not likely to be able to stand on his own. We will need to look after him and make him comfortable, she said, until he tells us it's time.<br />
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One look in his bright eyes, witnessing his ample appetite for grain and feeling him help when we try to shift him to what we think is a more comfortable position all say that time is not now.<br />
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In the wild in his native Peru, this illness would have made him a victim of predators long ago. Consty has the advantage of living in a barn within a secure pasture fence, but the disease seems destined to claim him anyway.<br />
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Does that mean hope is finally gone?<br />
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That's not the trade I have felt. Instead of hopelessness, we've taken on more compassion.<br />
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Besides, he is looking stronger and we haven't ruled out the possibility that he will prove the doctor wrong.<br />
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This is an animal that has made us smile for 17 years. He endured being packed into a Volkswagen bus and marched into a school classroom to be handled by second-graders.<br />
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He has ruled over all llama disputes as the largest male in the herd.<br />
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He has performed his trick on cue whenever an audience required. "He has a switch here on his back," we would tell believing visitors. When we scratched the right spot, he would wag his fluffy llama tail.<br />
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Those are memories that warrant a few more trips to the barn, special efforts to get him nutrition and to clean up the results.<br />
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We continue to lift him -- both with the hoist and to get him back upright when he rolls to his side and can't get back to an upright position. Cushing is the term for how a llama lies down with its legs tucked underneath.<br />
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We continue to monitor whether he seems to have more energy or less, whether he seems comfortable or cold or alert.<br />
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Looking for some indiction of how long before it's time.<br />
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<br />Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-33137134846220088542017-03-18T03:54:00.000-07:002017-03-28T12:33:27.806-07:00Neighbor helps keep hope alive<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>By David Horst</b> <a href="mailto:sandhill7@gmail.com">sandhill7@gmail.com</a></span><br />
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Hope came rolling up our driveway in the form of a really big pickup truck on Monday.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Consty</td></tr>
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Our hay guy, neighbor Randy who cuts and bales our hay with his brothers in exchange for half the take, came to help us get Constellation to his feet after about 72 hours of the llama being down. We're not close friends. Really, our only relationship is the business connection of haymaking. But when we asked, he came.<br />
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"That's what neighbors do," Randy said. It's the code of the country.<br />
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With a help of a man a generation younger and arms capable of throwing a hay bale one-handed up onto a stack four courses tall, we got Consty to his feet. There was no imagining that he was going to stand on his own, but at least he got his legs working and the blood flowing again.<br />
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We had some mechanical help. The double-pulley arrangement of a block and tackle hooked to the joist overhead reduced the strain of lifting, but it still presented a major challenge, with 250 pounds of llama at the other end of the rope.<br />
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I had two attempted designs for a sling ready to use -- a 6x8 tarp screwed to two 2x4s to keep it from bunching up and a hammock. Neither was ideal. Luckily, Randy had brought along a canvas sling made for lifting cows. It's a hair oversized, but beat out anything else we had by a long measure.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzRQmHVqVURVW84_milUZhZVcmlHTWM23MQMK2L0Rz85pXFkgTUMTHYASnst1sUBRiU34vzSBRup9auCLfzx8YFnuBsJkbio3CRAZlSWx6pjYU1PFaTjxbaBEZEsl-5hMrXpZQnd4RNsQ/s1600/winch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzRQmHVqVURVW84_milUZhZVcmlHTWM23MQMK2L0Rz85pXFkgTUMTHYASnst1sUBRiU34vzSBRup9auCLfzx8YFnuBsJkbio3CRAZlSWx6pjYU1PFaTjxbaBEZEsl-5hMrXpZQnd4RNsQ/s200/winch.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's what you need to lift a llama.</td></tr>
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Even the best neighbors can't be expected to come to your house twice a day for what could be a couple of weeks to help you lift a llama. We needed a more independent solution. I decided to let fossil fuel take the burden.</div>
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An electric winch is the ticket, I thought to myself. Scanning the Internet, I found $100 would get you one capable of lifting twice Consty's weight. Off I went to the tool store with MasterCard in hand and walked away with a box heavy enough that you almost need a winch to lift it.<br />
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I got home with it in what I thought was plenty of time to unbox and install the winch before my wife arrived. That's when I got to the part in the directions that said to attach the winch to a steel pipe or a beam strong enough to handle the force of lifting, but small enough to fit within the provided brackets.<br />
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I'm here to tell you there is no exotic wood in the deepest forests of Brazil strong enough to take the force of the lift when cut thin enough to fit within the little provided brackets. That left pipe, and the closest thing to pipe in our barn is plastic electrical conduit.<br />
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I searched the basement, the garage and the barn for any length of bracket-diameter pipe. What I came up with in the end was our trusty tamping rod. It's a rusted old 4-foot length of 1¼-inch steel pipe that we have used through the years to compact the soil around fence posts and beat rocks into submission. Now it would be our winch-holding pipe, after a trip to the hardware store to provide my own brackets to screw the pipe down to the barn beams.<br />
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It's like a children's song. "With the cable that's on the winch, that's on the pipe, that's on the barn beam, Old McDonald lifted a llama, eey-eye-eey-eye-ohhh."<br />
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To make a short story of a long installation, the brackets held the pipe and the winch securely enough to lift the llama with the sling Randy had provided.<br />
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A couple of times, Consty actually helped with his back legs. That fed hope.<br />
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Getting his legs out from under him revealed his front-right leg is injured, the knee noticeably swollen. Add that to his systemwide infection and you have a challenge to standing up that could take some time to overcome.<br />
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The plan is to lift him two or three times a day in hopes that his legs will strengthen and he will be able to stand, and then get up, on his own.<br />
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When that happens, hope will be here to stay.Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-21558403676066869652017-03-13T04:47:00.002-07:002017-03-28T12:33:47.724-07:00Llama needs hope to remain faithful<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>
By David Horst </b><a href="mailto:sandhill7@gmail.com" target="_blank">sandhill7@gmail.com</a></span><br />
<a href="mailto:sandhill7@gmail.com" target="_blank"><br /></a>
Today I was pretty convinced that Hope is just a city in Arkansas -- a sucker bet for people who can't see the reality in front of their noses.<br />
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I had seized onto hope on Friday, when our llama Constellatione had shown signs of improvement after 14 hours of not having the strength to stand up on his own. And the last place he had gone down was out in the pasture, in the wind.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQvVXEgFbpEy3mzRV895Rq_yWVvXON_vA84KP4tDahizuKblW6ZbzWA0iGSa_QiSR5WznmvFGRZQQj_clDLD16Qoc5kgzag-zEQoOdQ5IPdSZkBNaj_vRttlM8S4fZ3AQBwRe-fSBz4Lg/s1600/Consty---1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQvVXEgFbpEy3mzRV895Rq_yWVvXON_vA84KP4tDahizuKblW6ZbzWA0iGSa_QiSR5WznmvFGRZQQj_clDLD16Qoc5kgzag-zEQoOdQ5IPdSZkBNaj_vRttlM8S4fZ3AQBwRe-fSBz4Lg/s320/Consty---1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Constellatione</b></td></tr>
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Cobbling together a hay manger, a few hay bales, my compact tractor and a pontoon boat-sized tarp, I erected a quick wind break around him, but he had to walk on his own.<br />
<br />
Our llama vet -- actually our llama vet's daughter -- discovered an infection caused by an abscess tooth. She was instructing her intern about how llamas can develop abscesses, "Like this one," she said, as she felt along the llama's jaw. She gave him a shot of antibiotic that she said could turn his situation around in 24 hours.<br />
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Our actual vet also works on dairy herds and, while doing a herd check, was a tad slower than a cow's hind leg, The kick left him with the knee of a receiver who plays on cheap Astroturf.<br />
<br />
With his daughter serving as a capable fill-in, we were able to help Constallatione to his feet and -- with a runner rug slung under his belly -- walk him into the barn. When we went out to round up the rest of the herd to get them into the barn, Consty came walking out on his own. Hope springing eternal.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, that was the only time we would see him walk through the weekend.<br />
<br />
He remained down. The 24-hour antibiotic kick-in period passed without effect.<br />
<br />
We recruited a fellow camelid owner friend to help us get him to his feet again on Sunday. We lifted, strapped, leveraged and were about to pulley him to his feet when it all seemed to be too much.<br />
<br />
He went down on his side, his breath went shallow and his eyes dulled. Hope down to less than a trickle. We were down to planning when to have the vet administer his final injection to take away his pain.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
I cursed myself for falling for hope's temptation again.<br />
<br />
Constellatione had other ideas. While we sat with him, he would kick his legs every so often, seemingly trying to get himself upright again. Or maybe it was just contracting muscles or waves of pain. A llama can't tell you.<br />
<br />
We tried to get him upright, but his rear legs were too rigid to get them under his body. After a call from the daughter vet, we tipped him upright, regardless of where his rear legs wanted to go. Almost immediately, his shallow breathing improved. Before long, he was eating hay and drinking water.<br />
<br />
A visit from the on-call weekend vet -- the worst things always seem to happen to animals on Sundays -- got him shots of antibiotic and steroids, and help lifting the 250-pound animal to get his legs where they belong.<br />
<br />
We embraced hope again, instantly forgiving all of its past acts of abandonment.<br />
<br />
The end of this story has not yet been written. We've had to tip Consty up a few more times. He still has to stand to survive. We need hope to remain faithful this time.Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-58802440023611458382017-02-02T05:32:00.002-08:002017-02-02T09:43:30.450-08:00John speaks loudly with few words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>By David Horst </b><a href="mailto:sandhill7@gmail.com">sandhill7@gmail.com</a></span></span><br />
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How do I describe my friend John?<br />
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<br />
He is unlike anyone else I know — a mountain man born to the wrong time and place, but comfortable at any time and in any place.<br />
<br />
John Behnke is, above all, nonjudgmental. That’s a quality I value in a friend.<br />
<br />
We met through a mutual friend and a mutual interest in kayaking. We’ve done more than a dozen multi-day trips together, including at least 10 wilderness paddle-camping trips to the Apostle Islands. If you can come through that kind of potential for getting on each other’s nerves, you’ve got yourself a friend.<br />
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John is the kind of guy you would turn to in an emergency because you know he would remain calm and draw on some life experience that would help the situation.<br />
<br />
No description of John would be complete without noting that he is a man of deep faith. He has made retreats to the shrine of Our Lady of Medjugorje in the former Yugoslavia. Greet him and ask how he is and his response will be, “I am truly blessed.”<br />
<br />
Through heart attacks, strokes and cancer, John still sees himself as truly blessed.<br />
<br />
My best shot at communicating the essence of the man is to share with you some of his few words. These sentences stand out in my memory because they capture something of John’s spirit.<br />
<br />
Out in the open space of Lake Superior, you ask John which way we should go and he needs no compass:<br />
<br />
“Forward!” John will declare, echoing Wisconsin’s state motto.<br />
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Fret about the weather forecast in front of John (he has little patience for fretting) and you will hear:<br />
<br />
“We’re definitely going to have weather.”<br />
<br />
John and our mutual friend Frank can disagree about any subject. It’s one of our main sources of campsite entertainment. When Frank finally and inevitably pushes John to the point of exasperation, John sums up the situation like this:<br />
<br />
“Frank, Frank, Frank.”<br />
<br />
Then there was the time John was wearing a t-shirt with a catch phrase on it that I no longer recall. I don’t know how to explain why this defines John so well for me, so I’ll just share it. <br />
<br />
Frank read the shirt and told John that he didn’t understand the meaning of his t-shirt.<br />
<br />
“You don’t have to,” John responded. “It’s not your t-shirt.”<br />
<br />
I remember only one time that John’s words scared me. We were paddling back from a trip to the outer ring of islands in the Apostles. We had foolishly put our schedule back home ahead of the realities of Lake Superior and headed out in weather we had no business paddling in.<br />
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Conditions deteriorated as we headed toward the mainland. We bobbed and bounded over waves so tall that when they rose between us, they completely hid us from each other’s view.<br />
<br />
I was hyper-alert but fine, confident in the skills of my fellow paddlers and the soundness of my boat. Until John spoke.<br />
<br />
"Dave, let me tell you where my truck keys are … just in case.”<br />
<br />
Now I was scared.<br />
<br />
We made it safely back to shore. We may have actually kissed the sand.<br />
<br />
I saw John recently and asked him about his latest medical problems. He was stoic, as always. The seriousness of his reaction was as if I had asked him about the latest oil change in his truck. Finally, he summed up the cancer, the heart attacks and the stroke, dismissing all of it with more words according to John.<br />
<br />
“Don’t none of it hurt.”<br />
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Then we went back to talking about paddling.<br />
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Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-25399490247428712882016-12-05T05:27:00.001-08:002017-03-14T12:45:25.959-07:00Navarino offers big trees for a pair of sawbucks<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>By David Horst </b> sandhill7@gmail.com</span><br />
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NAVARINO -- For us, getting a Christmas tree is always an adventure.</div>
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Our tree is live. It’s cut by us. It is large.<br />
<br />
We've had big fat trees, tall conical trees and bigger, fatter trees.<br />
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We’ll travel 20 miles for a tree. We have hiked every inch of an 80-acre tree farm and then walked away empty-handed when none of the trees met our -- well, really her -- standards.This year we went to the wild side. Unshorn trees in a former tree farm in the Navarino Wildlife Area were going for $20. Any size. Any species. Sales benefit the Navarino Nature Center.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh23zDaaXKAKZ_Tszft2km0fXsn3_f7RXe2oryZa3i4fC-8e5fK6xQ8YZVgJNzBHAjVZOQcpmxXaPUPKuFRl8P6DeIG2BRxV7RD-ymXsBiVkP-dMgxSj5j5QUzf4ab9QQ1_65tlV7RxNEk/s1600/Xmas+tree+2016+-+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh23zDaaXKAKZ_Tszft2km0fXsn3_f7RXe2oryZa3i4fC-8e5fK6xQ8YZVgJNzBHAjVZOQcpmxXaPUPKuFRl8P6DeIG2BRxV7RD-ymXsBiVkP-dMgxSj5j5QUzf4ab9QQ1_65tlV7RxNEk/s400/Xmas+tree+2016+-+1.jpg" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Past tree stories:<br />
<a href="http://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2016/01/our-2015-christmas-tree-was-not-ceiling.html" target="_blank">Leaving its mark</a><br />
<a href="http://uponthesandhill.blogspot.com/2007/01/beast-of-tree-prooves-to-be-beauty.html" target="_blank">The Beast</a></td></tr>
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We've had the traditional balsam and the trendy Fraser, but our species of choice is white spruce. It has the branch heft to handle our weighty ornaments and that something extra.<br />
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Sometime after Christmas -- if you are attentive to keeping the water supply topped off -- a spruce that has been severed from its roots and has been living indoors for several weeks, may well start to grow. Green stems sprout from the branch tips and keep growing for five or six inches before it is hauled back to the burning pile. (By the way, burning a dried out Christmas tree will handle your firebug tendencies bigtime.)<br />
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With the trailer hitched, tires inflated and tail lights tested, we headed for the Shawano County line. That’s where you will find Navarino Nature Center and the adjacent wildlife area and, once again this coming Saturday (Dec. 10), it will be open for cutting.<br />
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With the temperature in the upper 40s, it was a pleasant walk in the woods. We entered into a typical northern woodland but, before too many dozens of steps, we were immersed in conifers.<br />
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White pines, balsam, Scotch pine were all there for the taking. Most of them towered above us, but for your $20 you are welcome to cut down a tree that is far too tall for your house, cut off the top for your tree and the branches for your wreaths and other yuletide decorations.Two warnings about Daniel Booning your tree from the woods:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>The top of the tree looks a lot more lush and full when it’s 30 feet in the air than when it is felled and lying at your feet.</li>
<li>That really full tree you’ve got your sights on could very well be two or three or more stems that have grown together. Unless you’ve got a really funky tree stand, you are going to be taking home a tree with three bad sides.</li>
</ol>
<br />
These are wild trees and you should expect to celebrate your Christmas with that outdoor spirit.<br />
<br />
After 45 minutes of wandering in the woods, we found a potentially acceptable spruce and marked it with a forked twig looped over a branch. Then we set off to find an even better spruce.<br />
<br />
Half an hour later, we hadn’t found the ideal white spruce and had no idea where our marked tree was.<br />
<br />
With the time in the woods having passed the two-hour mark, we located two worthy spruce trees a few steps from each other. Eyeing up their relative branch density, trunk straightness and brown needle count, we chose the one slightly more northern.<br />
<br />
Our living room ceiling is a hair over 12 feet high, so we lopped off 15 feet of tree and dragged it back to the road. Sweat-drenched and panting, we presented ourselves to the Navarino volunteers, who took pity and loaded the tree into our eight-foot the trailer.<br />
<br />
Once home, I successfully negotiated the tree back to 12 feet, 8½ inches. We dragged it through the front door, affixed the tree stand and, using every memory of strength I’ve ever had, lifted it upright.The good thing about a tree that big is that once you get it perpendicular, it stays in place just by the force of its own weight.<br />
<br />
This was a successful tree hunt because it gave us another adventure and another story to share. Placing hundreds of lights, selecting favorite ornaments and remembering their stories still lie ahead. That’s when this collection of branches and needles dragged into our house goes from being a spruce tree to a Christmas tree.<br />
<br />
But from now on, I may need to knock off a couple of inches for each additional year I age.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786925391945570315.post-71601288986256442122016-10-04T17:26:00.000-07:002017-02-02T09:44:15.770-08:00Smaller turnout in the locks was OK <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
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<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1">By David Horst <a href="mailto:sandhill7@gmail.com">sandhill7@gmail.com</a></span></h3>
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<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1">This was a far cry from 150 boats.</span></div>
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<div class="m_5475294009192401860p1">
<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1">That's how many kayaks, canoes and stand-up boards we expected to show up at Lutz Park for the Appleton Locks Paddle</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">.</span></div>
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<div class="m_5475294009192401860p1">
<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1">That was before the one-week delay, due to hazardously high water flow on the Fox River, and the forecast for rain all day on our substitute date, Oct. 1.</span></div>
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<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1">The 38 boats that showed up didn't pack the locks full, as photos of past years' trips testify. No clanking of gunwales. No pushing of boats into the path of the lock gates.</span><br />
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<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1">We saw immature eagles. We saw an osprey. We saw deer nosing along the edge of the yards on the north side of the river.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friends gather for a group shot after a laid back 6-mile Appleton Locks Paddle.</td></tr>
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<div class="m_5475294009192401860p1">
<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1">And it didn't even rain.</span></div>
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<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1">It has seemed at times that our North East Wisconsin Paddlers public paddle events have fallen victim to their own success. It is fun to turn out a big crowd and enjoy the variety of boat colors and designs, and personalities of their owners. A flotilla like that nails our goal of getting people out on the water, but a smaller crowd has its charms.</span></div>
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<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1">I was able to have extended conversations under paddle power with the veteran paddler who drove up from Milwaukee, the former municipal worker who put up with my recitation of the history of the Appleton sewage treatment plant's anaerobic digesters and guy who is much closer to a real farmer than I am.</span></div>
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<div class="m_5475294009192401860p1">
<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1">The logistIcs of launching and landing were were not on a scale with Normandy, as some of these outings seem to be. The group wasn't stretched over miles of River. It was just nice.</span></div>
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<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="m_5475294009192401860p1">
<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1">These outings are essentially planned by three guys and pulled off on launch day with a lot of help from just a few more. It was up to the three of us to make go, no-go decision. We made the absolutely right call.</span></div>
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<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="m_5475294009192401860p1">
<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1">The previous Thursday, the flow created a 2-foot standing wave of water rushing from the navigation channel to the open gates of the dam, eager to take someone along for the ride. Now the surface was flat, though the pull of the current was still real enough to kindle an active imagination to consider how bad of a day that would be.</span></div>
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<div class="m_5475294009192401860p1">
<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1">As we pulled into Sunset Park in Kimberly, I realized this was it for the season and my mind turned to what we will ask all of these people to do with us next year.<span class="m_5475294009192401860Apple-converted-space"> </span>I'll be OK if for some of those trips, they count in the dozens instead of the hundreds.</span></div>
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<span class="m_5475294009192401860s1"><br /></span></div>
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Up on the <br>Sand Hillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15706227639300547152noreply@blogger.com0