Tale of a Tail on the Gunflint Trail

For anyone who knows me, my closest friend these days is a retired Alaskan husky dog named Chacha. We adopted her when she was 8 years old in the middle of the pandemic, and she has been quite the little therapy dog. In breaks between the multitude of zoom calls during the pandemic, a stroke of those luscious ears and a snuggle brought my blood pressure and anxiety levels down. In exchange, I spoil her as much as I possibly can with walks, special treats, and her favorite activity of running off leash in the woods.

This transition to working at the end of the Gunflint Trail has not been a super easy one, there’s just constant moving. That constant changing of locale has been really stressful for Miss Chacha. First, there’s the museum. It has a beautiful campus in the woods with lots of trails. On our trail cameras we’ve seen, bear, wolf, fox, moose, deer, lynx, pine marten, fisher, snowshoe hare, and most recently, a mother coyote and her adorable little pup. Of course Chacha has shown up on that trail camera as well, posted on the Blueberry Hill trail which takes one up to a beautiful overlook of Lake Saganaga.

While we’re at the museum, Chacha, who is innately shy and steers clear of humans, prefers to wander in the woods. All of us on staff are frequently told by museum visitors that there’s a wolf or coyote wandering in the woods. We reassure them that this is Chacha, not an apex predator, rather a spoiled canine who enjoys the act of seeing cheese grated onto her food prior to eating it. Much like you enjoy your ground pepper added to your bowl of pasta in a fine Italian restaurant. She is a refined canine.

When the day wears down and the cars have left the parking lot, Chacha usually emerges from one of her few hiding spots that she enjoys. Usually, she trots on out, does her perfectly articulated downward dog into upward dog, then tail wagging, wanders up to us for a pet, ready to hop in the car and go home.

But home is a shifting place these days. When we work at the museum, there is staff housing, 7 miles down the road from the museum. It’s a lovely house with a creek running behind it, surrounded by woods. When we first came up here, she would wander around and come immediately when I called her. Then the furnace installation guys came for two days making lots of noise and causing Chacha to think the sky was falling. Instead of coming right when we called her, Mark and I had to pretend we were going out for a walk to trick her into coming out from her hiding spot.

The closest town for groceries and gas is Grand Marais, an hour’s drive from us. When we go there, we spend the night at our tiny house just north of town. Again, this place is in the woods, extremely rustic, and Chacha loves exploring and usually comes back to us when we call. But she’s begun changing this behavior, she’s started going deeper and deeper into the woods and again, we both have to pretend like we’re going on a walk before she comes out of her hiding place.

Now, just to add another element of fun, we have to drive back to Minneapolis for family matters from time to time. Another change in locale for Miss Chacha. I know, it’s a lot of changing of locales, and to be honest, I’m struggling with it too. When we were home this last time, the roofers came to put on a new roof of the house. Oh my goodness, more strange people and all of the noise that comes with a new roof. She wanted none of it. She found the overly grown thick bramble of raspberry bushes to be her perfect haven, only emerging when she was 100% convinced that we were going to take her on a walk or give her food that she was actually in the mood to eat.

Now, just to add another element of fun, we have to drive back to Minneapolis for family matters from time to time. Another change in locale for Miss Chacha. I know, it’s a lot of changing of locales, and to be honest, I’m struggling with it too. When we were home this last time, the roofers came to put on a new roof of the house. Oh my goodness, more strange people and all of the noise that comes with a new roof. She wanted none of it. She found the overly grown thick bramble of raspberry bushes to be her perfect haven, only emerging when she was 100% convinced that we were going to take her on a walk or give her food that she was actually in the mood to eat.

I knew she was struggling, I knew she was confused, and I knew all of the changes were hard on her, and yet, we were both busy too and didn’t heed the signs that she needed a little more tender loving care through this process.

Then came July 2nd. It was a rainy super buggy morning. Mark was set to take a group out on a guided tour into the Boundary Waters, and I was to work at the museum that day. Chacha was in the car with me as she watched Mark packing up his car with strange people she didn’t know and leaving. Because it was so buggy, I brought Chacha into the museum for a few minutes. This is a definite no-no as we have signs clearly stating, “No dogs allowed in museum” posted on the door. Then I took her to our administration building for a while, but she seemed quite anxious there, pacing back and forth, so I let her out, thinking I’d have time to check on her throughout the day. I was very wrong. That was one of our all time high attendance days. With all of the rain we’ve had, and still raining, people poured into the museum. What is one supposed to do in this wet wilderness when outdoor activities are curtailed by mosquitoes, mud, and inclement weather? Go to the museum of course! And we love that! We love that so many people come to learn about this beautiful wilderness, that’s our mission up here.

But Chacha wasn’t having it. When all of the cars had left, I called and called and called. I looked into all of her favorite hiding places and could not find her. One of her favorite spots is directly behind the museum where she can be seen from the window at times. But I couldn’t see her this day. Normally, I hear her collar jiggling and know that she’s wandering around in there somewhere, but I heard nothing, in any of her spots.

My co-worker, Caroline, and I had driven to work together and were planning on attending a knitting night at a local resort together. In an effort to help me, Caroline sat in the car so as not to scare Miss Chacha. I called, I walked, I searched, and was only met with the sounds of other animals in the woods, but not Chacha. We decided that I would drop Caroline off at the staff house and I’d come back and continue to search, maybe she’d emerge?

I came back to the museum alone with her food dish and food, and Marks’ pillow, blanket, and pants, next to it. Maybe she missed him too and couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t in the picture as well? I called Anna and Emily, Mark’s daughter and her partner who are both dog mushers. They suggested that I open the car door and maybe she’d jump in somewhere through the night while I sleep in the museum. Only problem, my sleeping gear is down in Grand Marais. Knowing what I’d seen on the trail cams, I wasn’t sure what other creatures might enjoy crawling into my car in the middle of the night, not to mention the horde of mosquitoes and other insects that would be in there. Tired, hungry, and heartsick, I decided to come back to the house and pray that she’d be there in the morning. I emptied the food dish not wanting to attract bears, and reluctantly got into the car.

On the drive home, a fox darted across the road in front of me disappearing into the woods. She’s a sled dog I kept telling myself. Anna and Emily had reminded me that sled dogs have excellent senses of direction and the biggest danger is cars on the road, like me. The woods, no problem. I tried to calm myself with that thought as I drove through the inky darkness, slowing my roll so that I could stop quickly if some other creature was hanging out on the road at night.

The weather forecast had suggested a clear night, but as the thunder began to rumble close to midnight, clearly, things had changed. Then, the all out downpour of a typical thunderstorm in the north woods. This dog pants and paces when she hears thunder in a safe and dry house, what is she doing in the woods right now?

I slept fitfully, dreaming of her emerging from the woods, tail wagging, smiling, and ready to go on a walk. It was a nice dream.

Finally at 6:00 am I got up and made my way to the museum. I wore lots of thick layers to protect from mosquitoes and donned my bug shirt before I even left the house. With all of the rain we’ve had, the mosquitoes are so thick it’s hard to describe. Without a covering on your face, you breathe them in. They’re in your eyes, nose, ears, sucked into your mouth, it’s disgusting.

The pants, blanket, and pillow were a sopping mass on the sidewalk. The food dish just had more water in it than the night before. I walked all around looking in her normal hiding places at the museum, but heard and saw nothing. After more conversations with others, they had suggested that I climb the Blueberry Hill trail since she’s been seen on that trail camera so many times.

I headed up the trail, already hot with all of the bug protective gear, but slowly made my way up the very muddy and wet trail calling her name every few paces. Chacha and I have done this trail several times and I recalled her joy at jumping off the trail, into the woods, only to leap out in front of me as if to remind me of how much more agile she is than I am. My feet sunk into the mud and the small rivulets of water that had been on the trail days earlier, were now free flowing streams and small ponds. I made a mental note to let the others know the conditions of the trail are not conducive for hiking.

When I reached the top of the trail I was welcomed by the bench and the spectacular view from that spot. From the top of this trail, there is a 360 degree view of the landscape around you. To the south is the woods, but to the other direction is Lake Saganaga in all of its glory, channels, islands, deep clear water. Way north, on this clear day is Canada’s shore. The cool strong breeze blew the bugs away and dried the sweat.

I sat on that bench and then the sobs came. This day, July 3rd, is also my son’s 32nd birthday.

Honest to God, where did the time go? How do I have two children who are in their 30s? How did that happen? They were just little and we were doing fun little people things together and now they’re all grown up and married, and getting married, and living so far away, while I’m sitting on the top of this really big rock looking for a dog. I dug a tissue out of my pocket, this was not going to be enough for all of the tears that were coming hot and fast. And Chacha, I should have paid attention to the signs, I should have slowed down for her, I should have kept her in the house, I knew she was confused and I should have just spent more time bonding with her. I should have been a better mother, dog owner, and person in general.

Then I looked out over the horizon, this beautiful, gorgeous, raw stunning wilderness and wondered how many people have sat on top of this rock and cried as I have over the centuries. I thought about our current politics and shuddered as the breeze had cooled off the sweat and now I was cold. This precious domain we claim and yet we cannot seem to get along and continue to undermine the land. Why, I cried out to God, just why? Sometimes laments are just laments and we can leave them to be laments in the capable hands of God.

I continued back down the path calling Chacha, knowing full well she was not on this path. When I got back to the museum, Bonnie, our main campus director, led me into the museum and showed me from the window where she could see Chacha’s tail. Curled up into a tight ball, barely visible, except for the white tip of her tail.

So there she’d stayed, hunkered down, all day and all night long. We walked outside and I called her name. I could see her head pop up, then she eyed me warily and tucked it back down into her tail, almost becoming invisible. She was not coming out on her own. Eventually, it took three of us to corner her and me crawling and scooting on my butt through the thick undergrowth to get close enough to her to grab her collar and attach the leash.

She came out shaking and scared, prancing about on her leash looking for a way she could dart back into the safety of the woods again. She jumped into the car and we headed back “home” again but I did not let her off that leash. I brushed her off, spoke soothingly to her and fed her, complete with grating the cheese on top of her dish just the way she likes it.

We’re going to need to do some mending of trust. For whatever reason, she doesn’t trust me as much as she once had. Did I take our relationship for granted and not pay attention to the concerns that she was having? Did I make too many changes that she just wasn’t equipped to handle all too suddenly? Did I ignore warning signs along the way that she needed more time and love from us being together?

Now today is July 4th and I’m wondering about the same questions for our nation. Do we all need to take a step back and remind one another of just how much we need each other? Is it possible that we could emerge from our hunkered down spaces enough to see the light and that we need not be quite so fearful of the ‘other.’ Is there any way that we can mend some of these broken relationships to move forward together, as one United States of America.