Come walk with me in the peak Autumn beauty of the Northwoods. To say that I love this time of year is an understatement. Most everyone can appreciate the colorful falling leaves---it reveals the 'true self' of a tree when its leaves are no longer producing chlorophyll. Their true colors are revealed, and there is something simple … [Read More...]
Reclamation
I lived in eastern Pennsylvania for a good part of my growing-up years. Since the late 1800’s, Western Pennsylvania was known as coal country. In the 1960’s, strip mining began to replace underground mining, and with the heightened awareness of environmental issues by the first (April 22, 1970) and subsequent Earth Day Celebrations, strip mining was a big issue. I chose that topic for a term paper I wrote in high school, because the pictures of what strip mining did to the land turned my stomach and kind of broke my heart. Even the phrase ‘strip mining’ has a violent, ugly sound to it, and now tends to be replaced with the term ‘surface mining,’ which also includes ‘open-pit’ and ‘mountain-top removal’ mining. (Two other methods that sound as ugly as they are.) Strip mining is more efficient and cost-effective for the mining companies and safer for the miners, but it is an environmental nightmare that pollutes waters, scars and alters the landscape, erodes soil, damages infrastructure, and destroys wildlife. In the early 70’s, the mining companies promised ‘reclamation.’ They said they would reclaim the land—return it to its natural state. But also by then, the evidence of their reclamation claims was almost non-existent. The scarred and barren land was most often abandoned.
Minnesota also has a long history of mining—not for coal but for iron ore. Iron ore was discovered in the Cuyuna Range area in 1904 and became a mining boom during the World War I and II years. Twenty to thirty mines were dug and new towns sprang up in the area—Ironton, Cuyuna, Crosby, and Riverton, to name a few. Twenty mines were still operational in the early 1950’s, but most were shut down a decade later. The mining companies abandoned huge pits 100-525 feet deep with rock piles 200 feet high. Through the combined efforts of the Iron Range Resources Rehabilitation Board, local and county governments, volunteers, and the Department of Natural Resources, the Cuyuna Country land became a State Recreation Area in 1993. I don’t know how much of the ‘reclamation’ was human manpower and how much was Mother Nature doing what she does, but the area has been transformed back to a more natural state. The 5,000 acres of land has six natural lakes and fifteen deep, cold, mine-pit lakes that house Rainbow and Brown Trout. Aspens, Pines, Birch, Basswood, and Ironwood have regenerated the land.

Asters and Zigzag Goldenrod brighten the landscape with their late summer blooming, enticing the pollinators.


The pit-mine lakes have clear, deep-aqua-colored water that lends itself to scuba-diving, canoeing and kayaking, along with fishing.


The before and after pictures of Portsmouth Mine and now Portsmouth Mine Lake are dramatic. I would like to see the before-the-mining pictures. The damage is gut-wrenching, and I am reminded why I fervently wrote about strip-mining in high school.


Aspen trees are naturally a ‘reclamation’ tree—they are one of the first to grow after a forest fire. Their colonized root systems and fast growth allow them to quickly regenerate vegetation on barren land.

Sumacs are another tree/shrub that easily ‘fill in’ scarred or empty land and also provide food for deer, rabbits, grouse, wild turkeys, and many songbirds.

Cuyuna Country Recreation Area is probably best known for its fifty miles of single-track mountain biking trails. When we arrived in Ironton, I mistakenly thought the mountain bike riders had special red-colored tires for their bikes. We were there with our old bikes to ride on the paved State Trail, and it wasn’t long before our tires picked up the red color from the iron-laden rocks and dirt from the mountain bikers that crossed the paved trail.





We rode along three of the larger pit-mine lakes on the State Trail with only a few places to pull over to see the water. The mountain bike trails wound around much closer to all the lakes. The trails are color-coded and graded from easiest, easy, more difficult, very difficult, and extremely difficult. By the end of our ride on the paved trail, I must admit that I kind of wanted to try a dirt trail, but I was intimidated by how fast the red-tired bikers all seemed to be going!

The best find along our paved trail was a sneak peak through the trees at an Osprey sitting in a dead tree. I screeched to a halt when I saw the flash of a white-headed bird, thinking it was an eagle. When I zoomed in, I saw the dark brown stripe through the eye, the white underbody, and the incredible sharp beak and talons of this fish-catching bird. Ninety-nine percent of their food is live fish, so they are efficient hunters and catchers. They have a specialized toe that grasps the others and barbed pads on their feet to hold the slippery fish. Like eagles, they mate for life and make large stick nests with the males gathering the sticks and the females arranging the nest. Their population numbers crashed in the early 50’s to 70’s when the pesticide DDT poisoned them and thinned their eggshells. After DDT was banned and people helped out by building platforms near water for nesting sites, their numbers began to recover. Unfortunately, now plastic bale twine and fishing line are a concern for young chicks. These bits of plastic get picked up for nest building, and the chicks can get entangled in them.


Cuyuna Country illustrates the demise and destruction of natural resources due to mining and the amazing regeneration that is possible afterwards. Time and Mother Nature are the two driving forces of reclamation, with the help of man, money, vision and commitment for a better way. Great mistakes have been made in the quest for efficient, cost-effective industries. Mother Nature literally and figuratively often gets bulldozed with little thought or care of the impact and ripple effects. Sometimes we do the same thing to ourselves. We sacrifice our own internal resources in the quest for more money, other people’s wants and wishes, a bigger house, or fame. And things can get ugly and devastating before we realize our mistakes. But we can reclaim ourselves. We can return to our natural state. With commitment and time and a good dose of Mother Nature, we are soon on the trail to a miraculous reclamation.
Risk and Reward
What would compel you to jump off a cliff? I mean literally jump off a cliff. Where on the risk scale are you, if 1 is ‘safety first and always’ and 10 is ‘extreme adventure is just a way of life?’ After leaving KoWaKan, Aaron asked if we wanted to stop at Thirteen Corners. That pulled me up short! I had heard the stories, even seen the take-your-breath-away video. My first thought was ‘no way do I want to see where my son and others I care for risked their lives,’ but I also knew it was a beautiful, intriguing place. So I said yes.
It is a beautiful place. Located within both Superior National Forest and Bear Island State Forest is Section 30. One hundred years ago this was a working mine for iron ore, employing 140 men. A community, also named Section 30, had been built up around the mine. There was a post office, a school with 120 children, boarding houses, private homes, a dance hall, hospital, silent movie theater, and Oppel’s General Store! All work halted in 1921 due to financial problems of the mining company after 15 years and the removal of almost 1.5 million tons of iron ore. Bust!
Section 30 has returned to the wilderness with a permanent scar of the water-filled open pit mine. Trees grow on the ‘spoils’ piles of unwanted rock from the mining, and we stood high on the hill and spoils above the water.

My knees were weak just watching Aaron walk to the ‘leaping point’—a jutting rock that overlay the green water sixty or seventy feet (or more?) below.


Trees have grown to the edge of the ragged rock cliffs, and Aaron pointed out the smaller cliffs on the other side—the ten or twenty footers where it was more just ‘fun’ to jump from. He told me of the tunnel under the inclined ledge—‘see that bright spot?’

It was like an optical illusion to me, that bright spot, until finally I could discern that it was sunlit ground from the other side of the tunnel.

The rock is actually quite beautiful with its red, purple, orange, and rust colors. There are layers of iron ore and pockets of white quartz.


But back to jumping off a cliff—what does a person ‘need’ to take a risk like that? First, you would need some skills—swimming, how to control your body when jumping, holding your breath, etc. You wouldn’t jump off a 70 foot cliff without first jumping off smaller cliffs many times—so, practice. You would need confidence in your abilities. You would need support—many eyes and hands to help see the dangers, to navigate the correct path, and to give you encouragement or warnings. And finally, you would need courage. It would be a rare person who would be able to stand on the ‘leaping point’ with no fear or trepidation.

The only evidence I saw of the mine, besides the pit and the piles of overgrown spoils, was this iron spike drilled into a rock high above the water. It must have held cables that were used to hoist the rock from the bottom of the pit. It was used for support, safety, and protection for the miners. It was important. They relied on the strength and integrity of that support for their livelihood, their well-being, even their life. Safety matters, even in risky ventures.

As I looked down at the green water, the very best I could imagine myself doing was walking out on that ridge and sitting with my feet in the water. Maybe. Perhaps. I’m a one on the risk scale, if not a zero or a negative number.


Walking through the trees, it was hard to imagine a bustling little mining town with children walking to school past the open pit where their fathers worked one hundred years ago. It was a risky job taken by Finnish immigrants in order to make a better life for their families. Those families moved on to other mining jobs and other places when Section 30 slowly dissolved after the abrupt closing of the mine. The mining company took a ‘calculated risk,’ defined as ‘a chance of failure, the probability of which is estimated before some action is undertaken.’ All businesses and all individuals at some time in their lives, take calculated risks after looking at the pros and cons, running the numbers, and having trusted people ‘weigh in’ on the issue. It is intentional; it is a choice. There are other risks people embark on from a position of vulnerability because of age, finances, health, or status—these ‘decisions’ are often a reaction of survival instead of a calculated choice. Then there is the purely physiological reality that the ‘executive function’ part of the brain, the prefrontal cortex, does not fully develop until the age of twenty-six or so. This is the rational part of the brain that is responsible for planning and impulse control. So our relationship to risk and safety changes as we mature and age.
Wherever we fall on the risk scale and for whatever reason we may or may not literally jump off a cliff or do any other kind of risky business, we can appreciate the siren call of adventure, freedom, re-birth, and fresh starts. We do, however, need to be wary of the bright spots that blind us of the risks; we need to practice discernment. We need to remember that the strength and integrity of safety matters. I thank God for the safety of the young people I know who have jumped off the cliffs—not all have fared so well, and I hope they have moved a little more towards the center of the risk scale. As for me, I need to move the needle away from my cocoon of protection and safety towards the middle ground where the unknown can bring connection, joy, and fun. Hello to Courage, and hello to “So I said yes!”
