Spending Time in Iowa

“Ray, people will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it...."  Terrance Mann as played by James Earl Jones in the movie “Field of Dreams.”

Much to the probable chagrin of the Iowa Tourism programs, the Hawkeye State doesn’t really rank highly on most people’s list of places to spend a vacation.  When most travelers think of Iowa typically three things come to mind.  First and foremost are endless corn fields growing on top of other endless corn fields that seem to stretch endlessly from one horizon to another.  The only thing more endless than Iowa’s endless corn fields are the endless corn fields of Illinois and Nebraska.  Second, with few exceptions, people think of the word “flat.”  The third thing most people think about when traveling in Iowa is getting across it to their final destination as quickly as possible. Despite Iowa’s less-than-glamorous image those who think there is nothing that Iowa can offer them are wrong. In fact they are dead wrong.

Airfare to Minneapolis to attend my daughter’s recent wedding was $460 roundtrip from Tampa and even more ridiculous from Sarasota.  However Allegiant Airlines flew from St. Petersburg airport to Des Moines Iowa and returned me to Orlando Sanford airport for $126 roundtrip.  Rental cars in Minneapolis were about $100 more expensive a week than those in Des Moines for the same period.  Considering options I quickly chose to fly on Allegiant to and from Des Moines and to spend time before and after the wedding exploring the Hawkeye State.

I had spent time in northwestern Iowa in the mid-1970s when visiting my former wife’s extended family in that area.  My second trip as a U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service employee was to Clear Lake Iowa in September 1977 when my supervisor and I established the Fish and Wildlife Service’s Waterfowl Production Area Acquisition Program using Duck Stamp dollars to protect a bit of what was left of Iowa wetlands.  Later when I was a resident of Nebraska I spent a great deal of time in southern and southwestern Iowa exploring and eventually with the passage of time I had visited each of Iowa’s 99 counties.  Based on past experience I didn’t think there was much to see in contemporary Iowa until I pulled back the sheets and looked more closely at what the state has to offer.

My arrival in Des Moines was early which seems to be a pleasant trait of Allegiant Airlines.  I have now flown them on nine different trips and have arrived before the scheduled arrival time on each trip.  United Airlines or Delta – eat your collective hearts out.  My rental car was from Alamo and I chuckled as I told the Alamo agent that this was the first time since January 1978 that I had landed in the Des Moines airport and then it was on a brightly colored Braniff Airlines jet.  The Alamo agent snickered as she said “Sir, I wasn’t even born until January 1988.” 

Departing the airport and finding my way to I-35 and then I-80 I was immediately struck by the actual kindness and courtesy Iowans demonstrated to others on the freeway.  Iowa drivers slow down to allow cars to enter the freeway!  Iowa drivers (and those from Nebraska also) actually turn on their turn signal lights and move over one lane so they don’t impede other drivers.  Iowa drivers actually wave at you like you’re a long lost friend as you zip past them on the freeway going 75 mph.  During my entire 2,212 mile journey in a rental car not once did I see an incident of road rage.  When you approach a stop light in Iowa and the light turns yellow everyone comes to an immediate stop.  In Florida a yellow traffic light means “Speed up and get through the light and too bad for the other drivers if it turns red while I’m in the intersection.”   In Iowa a yellow traffic light means “slow down and stop so my neighbor can get to the grocery store before I do.”  In Florida where most people seem to be carrying a firearm you need to be careful not to instigate a case of road rage and become a death statistic.  In Iowa everyone treats you like you just walked into Floyd's barber shop on the old Andy Griffith Show.  There is actually a place left in America where everyone seems to like each other and get along.  It’s called Iowa.

Iowa has an extremely rich baseball history having supported professional baseball teams since the 1870s.  When you are not exploring the State Historical Museum in downtown Des Moines and learning about the glacial history of the state, or spending an afternoon at the Living History Farms in Urbandale, be sure to show up at Principal Park for an Iowa Cubs AAA level baseball game.  The night I was there I watched a double header between the Cubs and the Nashville Sounds.  The Iowa Cubs swept the doubleheader which makes me wonder why they’re not all in Chicago.  Dave Sappelt, a 2009 Sarasota Reds outfielder is now the starting left fielder for the Iowa Cubs.  Earlier this year Dave made it to the Show and made his major league debut in Wrigley Field.  It was awesome seeing another of “our kids” make it to the Bigs.

Principal Park - Home of the Iowa Cubs in Des Moines

Most appropriately the Iowa Cubs game was preceeded by this clip from "Field of Dreams" shown on their Jumbotron

Follow Interstate 35 north from Des Moines through those endless corn fields and notice all of the wind farms that have been constructed to harness nature’s power.  Stop at the Fossil and Prairie Park in Floyd County to see a small patch of what Iowa once looked like and collect some brachiopod fossils while you’re there.  

A microscopic reminder of how Iowa looked before the corn fields and soybean fields and before the tile drains destroyed the natural basin wetlands - at the Fossil and Prairie Park in Floyd County

In 1880 there were an estimate 4 million acres of wetlands in Iowa.   In 1977 when my supervisor and I began the wetland acquisition program there were 27,000 acres left.  That’s right.  99.3 percent of the natural basin wetlands in Iowa had been destroyed.  Most wetlands in Floyd County have been destroyed and the interpretive center at the Fossil and Prairie Park tells visitors the story.

The Western Historic Trails Center in Council Bluffs, Iowa.  Take I-80 south at exit 1B to the Center

At the west end of the state before crossing over the Missouri into football-crazed Nebraska, history buffs will want to make sure they stop off at the Western Historic Trails Center in Council Bluffs where you can learn about the western expansion of settlement of the country as pioneers moved west along the Mormon, California, and Oregon Trails.  Dash north from Council Bluffs 100 miles to Sioux City and visit the Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail and learn about the epic journey of those two explorers who set out to find the western edge of America.

Further east in Waterloo you can visit the Iowa Veterans Museum where you can learn about the contribution of Iowan’s to the nation’s defense.  Probably most moving to me was the story of the “Fighting Sullivan” brothers – five Waterloo Iowa brothers who joined the Navy in January 1942 with the stipulation that they had to serve together.  It was for these brothers that the museum was built.  All five brothers were aboard the USS Juneau on November 13, 1942, during the Battle of Guadalcanal when the Japanese sunk the Juneau and the five brothers perished together.  Their tragic story was immortalized in a 1944 movie titled “The Fighting  Sullivan’s” that I watched many times as a child.  Now that story comes to life along with the stories of hundreds of other veterans at this wonderful museum in downtown Waterloo.

The National Mississippi River Museum in Dubuque interprets the importance of the Mississippi River to the culture and well-being of the nation.  Nearby the Mines of Spain Recreation Area at the edge of town tells you about the early mining industry (lead and zinc).  Further south the Putnam Museum in Davenport interprets the natural world and how humans interact (and interfere) with that world.  Traveling southeast from Muscatine you'll see signs directing you to Port Louisa National Wildlife Refuge, a patch of public land along the Mississippi River that welcomes visitors with open arms.  It used to be that the refuges were described as "the best kept secret in conservation" and it was intended that way.  Port Louisa seems to have broken that mold and invites visitors as they drive south along the river.  At the southeastern most point in the state is Keokuk a classic Mississippi River city and home to a massive Lock and Dam that supports the shipping industry on the river.

The University of Iowa in Iowa City has been a wrestling powerhouse (this is real wrestling not the fake WWE drivel on television) for as long as there has been wrestling.  The University of Iowa produced one of my college biology professors, Robert Calentine, who was the best all-around field biologist I have ever known.  Just east of Iowa City in West Branch is the Herbert Hoover National Historic Site and Presidential Library.  The three most recent and debilitating economic depressions in America were each caused by Republicans and Republican economic policies (Hoover, Bush I, Bush II).  Here at the Hoover National Historic Site you can get a glossed over interpretation of just how badly old Herb screwed up.  

The Herbert Hoover National Historic Site and Presidential Library is located just off Interstate 80 in West Branch

Cedar Rapids is home to the National Czech and Slovak Museum which does a fantastic job of interpreting the contribution of Czech and Slovak immigrants in the development and settlement of the central United States. 

The best kolaches I've had in 30 years were at the Sykora Bakery in the Czech Village

A block from the Museum is the Sykora Bakery that had kolaches – a traditional Czech pastry – as its main menu item.  I had not had a kolache since the last one my maternal grandmother made for me in 1980 so I had one for each decade I had been kolache-deficient.  Those at the Sykora Bakery were almost as good as the one’s my grandmother used to make.  In fact they were so close to grandma’s that I went back a second day for more.

Not my Grandma Beranek's kolaches but close.

Across town from the Czech Museum is the Cedar Rapids Museum of Art that contains a very good collection of Middle American art.  It is certainly not the Musee d’Orsay in Paris or the Metropolitan in New York City (and you should not expect it to be) but you will find yourself mesmerized by the beauty and complexity of the art that is available here to enjoy.  Not far from the Cedar Rapids Museum of Art is the Grant Wood Studio where the iconic painting “American Gothic” was painted in the 1920s.  Southeast of Cedar Rapids are the Amana Colonies, a National Historic Landmark and a well-preserved community of communal living German immigrants.

The iconic American painting "American Gothic" by Grant Wood of Cedar Rapids, Iowa

Despite my rabid interest in history and especially immigrant history I was not ready for the fascination and fanaticism that Iowans possess for baseball.  Just west of Des Moines off Interstate 80 is Van Meter, the boyhood home of “Rapid Robert” Feller, the best pitcher ever in the history of the Cleveland Indians.  Stop here and spend an hour and notice how quickly you are transformed back to your youth following baseball. The center piece of everything in the Bob Feller Museum is the iconic bat that Babe Ruth propped himself up on when he gave his farewell speech in Yankee Stadium shortly before his death.  As luck would have it the bat he used was Bob Feller’s bat and Feller had the Babe sign the bat after the game.  Both the bat and the signature are preserved for everyone to see in this Van Meter museum.

Exterior of the Bob Feller Museum in Van Meter Iowa

The bat used by Babe Ruth to prop himself up as he gave his farewell address in Yankee Stadium on June 13, 1948 

The Babe and Bob Fellers bat 

Across the state to the northeast is the small town of Dyersville and the farm where the movie “Field of Dreams” was filmed. I was one complete goose bump as I drove up to the baseball diamond where, as the voice told Ray, “If you build it he will come.”  Maybe 50 people were there when I arrived at the field of dreams.  More than 65,000 people a year flock to the farm to be taken back to an easier time in their lives.  Here you can sit on the same bleachers used in the movies and you can walk into the same corn fields where the players disappeared each day.  You can stand behind home plate and fantasize about what could have been and you can play catch with your dad one more time.  I honestly had tears streaming down my cheeks as I took in everything I could about this field and everyone’s dreams.  Baseball history in Iowa doesn’t stop with the Field of Dreams.  Tucked away in a Benton County corn field is the tiny village of Norway that proudly proclaims itself to be the “Baseball Capital of Iowa” (and has a t-shirt to prove it) where the movie “Final Season” was filmed. 

Entrance to the Field of Dreams, Dyersville Iowa

From behind home plate on the Field of Dreams

Father and son playing catch on the Field of Dreams just like Kevin Costner's character wanted to do with his father in the movie

The house from the movie "Field of Dreams"

This scene from the movie comes alive and overwhelms you as you look out over the field.  You can almost hear James Earl Jones' voice booming from the baseline as you sweep yourself back to your childhood at the Field of Dreams

The baseball highlight of the trip was attending minor league games in the Quad Cities, in Burlington, and in Cedar Rapids. I thought before this trip that Bradenton Marauders fans were among the most demonstrative of minor league baseball fans. We don’t even come close to Iowa minor league fans.  Not by a mile. 

Exterior of Modern Woodmen Stadium on the banks of the Mississippi River in Davenport Iowa

The Quad City River Bandits hosted the Kane County Cougars at Modern Woodmen stadium in Davenport on Saturday night. Parking at Modern Woodmen cost $2.00 per vehicle but when you pay the $2.00 you are given a certificate for $2 in “Bandit Bucks” to go toward the purchase of any item in the stadium concessions.  Among the 64 minor league stadiums where I have watched games, Modern Woodmen has to have the most spectacular view of them all – possibly combined.  It sits beside the Mississippi River within a long homerun of the river’s bank and a tall bridge over the river passes just to the south.  American white pelicans soared gracefully over the outfield occasionally dipping down to the water’s edge.  

The setting for Modern Woodmen Stadium is one of the most scenic if not THE most scenic of any baseball stadium in minor league baseball!

The game I watched (the River Bandits won in 11 innings) was preceded by a game of “vintage baseball” played using rules that were in effect in 1858.  An announcer best described as a baseball historian explained how the game was played in the days when nobody wore a glove, when there were no umpires, and when if you hit a ball and it was caught on the first bounce you were out.  Batters were known as “strikers” then and pitchers were known as “hurlers” and an out wasn’t an out it was an “ace.”  As the historian explained the game I learned that there is a historical basis for those annoying cowbells that fans ring all the time at Tampa Bay Rays games because in 1858 when you crossed home plate you still had not scored a run until you rang a cowbell that sat by the edge of the field.  We also learned why we have the seventh inning stretch.  It seems that President William Howard Taft was attending a game of the Washington Senators and he sat on a wooden bench.  After the third out in the top of the seventh inning, Taft’s ass was sore from sitting so he stood up to stretch.  When everyone else saw the President stand they too stood and from that simple act we have the tradition of the seventh inning stretch.

Here in Modern Woodmen Park just like on Iowa highways, everyone was friendly and kind and amazed that someone from Florida would travel all the way to Iowa just to watch a minor league baseball game.  Landshark Lager beer is sold in Modern Woodmen Park as a “specialty” beer and one of the food vendors sold foot-long bratwurst.  I very much enjoyed going to a game here with 4,402 other fans on the banks of the Mississippi River.

Exterior of Community Park, home of the Burlington Bees

Sunday at 2:00 p.m. the Burlington Bees hosted the Clinton Lumber Kings in a Midwest League battle.  Baseball has been played in Burlington since about 1880 and its local stadium (that does not charge for parking) is called Community Park and it was built in 1971.  Here most of the seats in this retro ball park are bleacher benches and Landshark Lager was only $3.00 a can.  The Lumber Kings demolished the Bees and at the end of the game everyone stood around talking with their neighbors just like people do all over the rest of Iowa.

The Burlington Bees are the Low A affiliate of the Los Angeles Angels

My last game of the trip was between the Burlington Bees and the Cedar Rapids Kernels in Perfect Game Park in Cedar Rapids.  Because the Kernels are an affiliate of the Minnesota Twins I was cheering for the Bees even though I was wearing a Kernels baseball cap.  Before the game I was given a personal tour of the stadium by an enthusiastic Kernels employee who showed me the shrine she had built to the history of Cedar Rapids baseball.  Way back when baseball great John McGraw played in Cedar Rapids and more recently Los Angeles Angels outfielder Mike Trout was there.  She told me about both of those great players and would have told me about everyone else who played here but we simply ran out of time.

Perfect Game Stadium, the home of the Cedar Rapids Kernels the Low A Affiliate of the Minnesota Twins

This game was played at noon to accommodate a bunch of youth groups and I sat directly behind home plate with several Burlington Bees pitchers.  Before the game we were treated to the playing of the national anthem by the Garnett Bell Ringers who call themselves the “Ding a Lings.”  This group of 900 year old ladies was classically Iowan to the core and did a very good job of playing in harmony through the anthem. Just before the first pitch the announcer admonished everyone in attendance sitting in the 80 degree sun to put on extra sun screen and he then added that we should all “drink extra water on this very hot summer day.”  Ah, I hate to tell you Iowa, but after living in Florida for six years 80 degrees is nowhere near hot!  I actually felt a little chilled sitting out in that sort of weather. When the game ended the Kernels had beaten the Bees by 6-4.  It was not a good couple of days for Bees fans.

I flew home from Des Moines to Orlando Sanford airport the next day and found myself sad that I was leaving the endless cornfields of Iowa.  A lot has changed in Iowa since I first started traveling there.  Farm land that we purchased in 1977 for $1,500 an acre is now selling for $11,000 an acre if you can find someone willing to sell.  There are signs everywhere telling everyone that ethanol is “home grown fuel” and there are hardly any fence rows remaining.  Gasoline was $0.17 a gallon in Vinton Iowa in April 1972 but now in Vinton it's $3.39 a gallon. And despite traveling all over most of the state I did not see a single hog farm where there used to be hundreds.  I wonder if the hog farms were turned into corn farms in response to the market for corn brought on by the production of ethanol? Through all of these outward changes however Iowans have not changed.  They like most Midwesterners would give you the shirt off their back not necessarily because you need the shirt then but because they thought you might need it at some time in the future.

Departing the Orlando-Sanford airport I entered Interstate 4 and drove west through the mid-day madness of Orlando traffic.  There are very few cities that bother me to drive in - Bangkok and Johannesburg and  New York and Miami and Los Angeles are fun.  Orlando is pure hell.  I’m not sure if it’s because the roads are all clogged with thousands of Tommy Tourists not knowing where or how to find a rat named Mickey but for whatever reason I detest driving in Orlando.

A "normal" day in traffic headed to Ratworld

Traffic moved along slowly with Florida drivers cutting people off and blasting their horns and making quick and dangerous lane changes. As to be expected nobody used their turn signals and several people were seen with their heads out of the window screaming at other drivers.  It was a typical Orlando scene and as I approached the Amway Center all traffic on the Interstate came to a complete halt.  More horns were blaring and more fingers were flashing and blood pressures were rising and everyone was getting mad.

Everyone, that is, except for the van in front of me.  It had an Iowa license plate from Linn County and the driver had his turn signal on as he waited patiently so he could safely change lanes.

Pinellas County Waterspout/Tornado

The National Weather Service office in Ruskin Florida received this spectacular video of a waterspout/tornado near Pinellas Park, Florida on June 24.  What a great way to be up close and personal with one - and still be safe!

A Family Group of Four Sandhill Cranes

The number of eggs a bird species lays (it’s “clutch size”) is genetically determined.  Some birds like ostriches and albatross lay only one egg during each nesting attempt.  Others like ring-necked pheasant and northern bobwhite lay up to 18 eggs in a clutch.  For an important ecological reason, most birds with a clutch size of two or more eggs do not begin to incubate their clutch until the last egg is laid.  This ecological adaptation is programmed into them genetically so that all young hatch at essentially the same time.  This has huge implications for species survival.

Sandhill cranes do things a tad differently.  Sandhills are a determinant layer at two which means that they are genetically programmed to lay no more than two eggs in a clutch.  Despite laying only two eggs when the first egg is laid the adults begin to immediately incubate that egg.  Two to three days later when the second egg is laid, the embryo in the first egg has a two to three day head start in development.  That means that a couple of weeks later when the young in the first egg hatches that first young has an advantage in growth and strength and survival over the second young.

After the first young (known as “colts” in cranes) is born it receives all the attention of the adults including all the food they can provide.  However two or three days later when the second colt arrives, suddenly the first colt receives half of the attention and more importantly half of the food it was receiving just a day earlier.  Human parents who bring their second or subsequent child home from the hospital are frequently familiar with the sibling rivalry that follows.  The same concept happens in cranes only with more deadly consequences.

The older colt senses that the younger colt poses a threat to its survival and almost 100 percent of the time the older colt kills the younger one.  It’s a practice called fratricide, it has been genetically programmed into cranes for tens of thousands of years, and as much as the PETA-types want to moan and cringe and turn their heads at the thought, it is a survival strategy that works for cranes.  If it didn’t they would have become extinct long ago.

The words “almost 100 percent of the time” in the previous paragraph are the reason for this post.

In the last several days I have noticed that my resident pair of adult sandhill cranes has with them two nearly-fledged colts!  This is the first time in my crane watching career that I have seen two nearly-fledged colts with an adult pair.  Once on Alaska’s Seward Peninsula about 105 miles north of Nome I watched a three day old colt kill a newly hatched young in the nest.  Never before however have I seen two colts this old with the same parents.  Granted when you are looking at a corn field filled with 20,000 sandhill cranes along Nebraska’s Platte River it’s highly likely that one or two family groups in that throng are made up of four birds but good luck in figuring that out.  In my local sandhill crane family it is a certainty that the adults are raising two colts to fledging.  After seeing millions of sandhill cranes in my life this is a pretty spectacular sight!

In the image above you can tell the adult birds from the colts by the color of their foreheads.  Adults have a deep cardinal red colored forehead while the colts have a rusty brown forehead.  For the colts it remains rusty brown until their second year when their forehead turns cardinal red and humans can no longer tell their age.

How and why this adult pair was able to raise two colts to near fledging is a mystery. Could it be that it’s because the colts were hatched in an urban environment?  Could it be that the adults were able to collect so much food for the oldest colt right after the birth of the youngest colt that the oldest was too sated to care and just left the young colt alone?  Could it be that these two adult cranes are passing along a gene that precludes fratricide from the genetic makeup of their offspring?  A friend of mine who lives six miles away told me just this morning that she has a family group of four near her home east of Interstate 75.  Maybe it is something peculiar to the Florida race of the sandhill crane (Grus canadensis pratensis) ? 

The possible explanations for this very unusual sighting are many.  The only entities that know the answer are the adult sandhill cranes and they are not saying much so it’s all speculation.  However it may have something to do with why sandhill cranes in Florida are able to survive in heavily urbanized areas.  Regardless, it’s sightings like this that make ornithology such a fascinating topic and why I remain excited that I chose it for a career long ago.  

I think I’m going to go back outside now to see if they adults want to give up a few more secrets. 

Clearing Customs in Calgary

Research I conducted on the issue of birds colliding with power lines and the subsequent papers I wrote and published on the research findings provided an avenue for me to consult with power companies and regulatory agencies proposing to construct structures in areas where birds congregated in large numbers.  I was able to apply those findings to potentially devastating situations ranging from Fairbanks, Alaska to Lawton, Oklahoma to Hartford, Connecticut.  I was once called in on an issue in Switzerland and another in Germany but unfortunately had to deal with those projects by phone.

In the early 1990s a major energy producing company in Canada was proposing to construct a massive 550 kilovolt power line across the heart of Alberta. The proposed routing would require that the line cross a large river that passes through the megalopolis of Edmonton and casual observations by the Canadian Wildlife Service and others suggested that the potential for major mortality among migrating birds (especially geese and ducks) was substantial.  Before various permits were to be issued to allow the project to proceed, the Canadian Wildlife Service (sister agency to my U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service) contacted me and requested my presence in Edmonton to give them a hint of how much bird mortality to expect.  Other research conducted by my agency and by others showed that there were simple measures that could be implemented when power lines are being constructed to reduce or eliminate the bird mortality hazard.  However first it was necessary to know if there was going to be a problem.

With a letter of invitation from the Canadian Wildlife Service in my day pack I boarded a United Airlines Express flight in Grand Island Nebraska and rode it to Denver where I connected to a real jet bound for Spokane, Washington.  In Spokane I caught a different United jet bound for Calgary where I could connect with an Air Canada flight to Edmonton.  The “Fly America” Act, a ridiculous piece of nationalistic legislation passed by the United States Congress required that I fly to my destination using American carriers and if an American carrier didn’t go to that destination then I had to fly one to as close as possible to my destination.  It was only there that I was allowed to use a foreign carrier.  It didn’t matter to Congress that following this rule not only increased the amount of time that federal employees had to be in the air, or did it matter to Congress that this ridiculous rule invariably cost the Treasury more money than if the foreign carrier was taken for the entire route.  Congress wanted to project an image of protecting American business no matter the cost.  At least I earned a lot more frequent flier miles this way.

Filling out the Canadian Customs and Immigration paperwork on approach to the Calgary airport I checked the box “business” under the heading of the purpose of my trip.  It really wasn’t business because I wasn’t buying or selling anything. At the same time it wasn’t a vacation or pleasure trip either so I chose to be as honest as possible.

Seeing that I had checked “business” on my entry card the smarmy Canadian Customs agent began grilling me over the business I was conducting.  It didn’t seem to matter that I was carrying and using a red United States passport with the word “Official” boldly stamped in gold on the cover.  Sgt. Preston wanted to know what was up and what I was selling.  He didn’t buy my story about evaluating a power line so he directed me into a small conference room, with no windows, where the interrogation began.  All this over checking “business” for the purpose of my trip!  I played their game as they played good cop – bad cop with me until I reached my limit of putting up with this nonsense.  It was then that I demanded that Canadian Customs immediately call the United States Consulate in Calgary because I was tired of thirty minutes of harassment over a box checked on a form.  When I demanded State Department intervention the bad cop of the good cop-bad cop duo asked me if I had any evidence that I was actually invited by the Canadian Wildlife Service to consult.  Reaching in my day pack I removed the Canadian Wildlife Service letter, signed by the agency director in Ottawa and handed it to the agent.  Reading it quickly he snapped “Why didn’t you tell us this before?”  As politely as possible I replied, “I did.  You just weren’t listening.”  Canadian Customs then escorted me to my Air Canada gate and wished me a safe and happy journey.  At the gate the good cop agent said, soto voce, “Next time lie and say you’re on vacation.”

Three days were devoted to evaluating the potential power line crossing routes and at the conclusion of the time I returned to the Edmonton airport for an Air Canada flight to Calgary where I would follow the same circuitous route back to Grand Island because that was the way the United States Congress wanted me to fly.  Sitting in the departure lounge awaiting my flight I noticed an American in a plaid shirt waiting with me.  The curious thing about the American is that in his carryon baggage he was transporting the rack of antlers of a moose!  He had apparently been hunting somewhere in Alberta, shot a sizeable moose, and was taking the antlers back home so they could adorn his office wall.  This was back in the days before baby’s milk and bottles of Evian water were considered weapons and the airlines allowed him to carry moose antlers in the cabin of the plane.

Being a former hunter who had twice unsuccessfully sought moose, I approached my fellow American to ask about his hunt and to find out about the moose.  Asking him politely about his trip he snarled at me in a heavy New York accent, “It’s none of your fucking business where I got this moose.”  True, it wasn’t, but I was just asking a question out of curiosity.  Telling him I had tried unsuccessfully to bag a moose during the two times I tried he barked,” Too bad. Now what the fuck will it take to make you leave me alone?”  The last three words were spoken in a volume much higher than the earlier words. Taking the hint I returned to my seat where I stewed. Eventually the flight was called, we all boarded including Manhattan Mike and his moose, and we headed to Calgary.  There it turned out Manhattan Mike was following me at least to Spokane.

With few exceptions all flights from Canada to the United States clear United States Customs and Immigration in the originating Canadian city.  Given the volume of flights from Canada this is probably done to reduce the number of people who have to clear Customs in their American city.  Doing so means that the flight I was to take from Calgary to Spokane would operate as a domestic flight and we wouldn’t have to waste time in Spokane doing what we were doing in Calgary.

When the Lacey Act (16 U.S.C. §§ 3371–3378) was passed in 1900, it became the first federal law protecting wildlife. It enforces civil and criminal penalties for the illegal trade of animals and plants. Today it regulates the import of any species protected by international or domestic law.

Under the Lacey Act, it is unlawful to import, export, sell, acquire, or purchase fish, wildlife or plants that are taken, possessed, transported, or sold: 1) in violation of U.S. or Indian law, or 2) in interstate or foreign commerce involving any fish, wildlife, or plants taken possessed or sold in violation of State or foreign law.  The law covers all fish and wildlife and their parts or products, plants protected by the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora and those protected by State law. 

I was well aware of the Lacey Act from my dealings with my agency’s Special Agents who enforced federal wildlife law.  As we stood in line waiting to clear Customs in Calgary I saw Manhattan Mike standing in line behind me grinning and looking stupid with moose antlers protruding from his back pack.  Still upset with the way he treated me in Edmonton I quickly devised a plan.  As I handed my official United States government passport to the US Immigration and Customs person I also handed him my U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service identification badge.  Stating to the Customs person that I was not in law enforcement so I had no authority to handle the issue myself, I said that I was concerned that they guy behind me in the plaid shirt with the moose antlers might be in violation of the Lacey Act and as a professional courtesy would he mind shaking him down for a potential Lacey Act violation?

The agent, most likely someone who spent 99 percent of each day checking out Maude and Edna as they returned to Poughkeepsie from a week in Banff National Park leaped at the chance to actually do something he was trained to do.  With a huge smile he said, simply, "sure."

Once I was cleared to leave I stood to the side of the flow of passengers and watched what happened.  When Manhattan Mike approached the Customs agent who had cleared me, I heard the agent talk into a microphone and suddenly two other Customs agents appeared. They began grilling Mike with all manner of questions.  They were on him like a wolverine on red meat.  They had his bags open and the moose antlers exposed and after a few minutes they collected him and his belongings and took him into a separate room where they likely continued the interrogation.  As they did I casually walked to my gate and boarded the plane. Manhattan Mike never made the flight.  

In all likelihood Manhattan Mike was clean as a whistle and was nowhere near in violation of the Lacey Act or any other federal law.  However maybe the next time someone asks him a polite question he will wonder if the person asking knows something he doesn't know and he won’t be so cavalier and snotty in his response.

A Trip Down the Keys Highway

Below is a proposed chapter for the book "A Quest for Counties."   It deals with the Florida Keys (Monroe County) and recounts a real tale from the summer of 1984 in Marathon.  This is indicative of how I would like the other chapters in the book to read and to flow.  Let me know if this works for you as a reader:

                                                                                   11

“If They Shoot, Shoot Back”

Vaca Key, Monroe County, Florida

(Portions of this chapter appeared previously in Faanes, Craig, 2001.  Somewhere South of Miami.  America House Publishers, Baltimore)

About 100,000 people call themselves permanent residents of the Florida Keys.  Some times on weekends during winter when there are more visitors than residents of Florida in Florida it may seem like there are 100 million residents in the Keys.  It seems that a trip down the Keys highway is now a required pilgrimage for everyone; it’s no longer a requirement just of Jimmy Buffett fans.

The Keys hold a special place in the history and folklore and the current-day psyche of Florida.  From the days of pirates there has always been an outlaw meme to the Keys.  No matter who was in charge or from where they were in charge, side stepping the rules and doing things differently was the norm in the Keys.

Henry Flagler and his long-sought Overseas Railroad probably had the longest lasting impression on the makeup of the Keys.  Through the trials, tribulations and travails of tens of thousands of men, Flagler oversaw the building of his dream railroad down the spine of the islands.  Logistics of this endeavor remain an awe-inspiring feat especially when you consider the state of technology in the early 20^th century with our contemporary ability to build structures like the Sunshine Skyway crossing the mouth of Tampa Bay and to accomplish that task in just a few months.

Flagler’s railroad opened the door for many to travel where few had gone before.  Originally designed to be a conduit for trade goods to be loaded to and unloaded from ships traveling between Key West and Panama or Colombia, the railroad soon eclipsed expectations with the sheer number of visitors that passed through the Keys.  Marketed early and often as “America’s Caribbean Islands” industrialists and other ultra-rich northerners flocked to the Keys to escape the Arctic conditions further north in winter.

Keys tourism continued to flourish through the 1920s but the Great Depression took its toll in the early 1930s.  Adding more insult to additional injury was the famous Labor Day hurricane of 1935 that completely changed the face and the structure of the Keys for years to come.  Roaring ashore on September 2 1935 and still pumping out energy on September 4 when it moved away, the Great Hurricane left the Keys and Flagler’s railroad in a complete shambles.  Internal pressures recorded with the storm remain among the lowest ever observed on earth.  Topping it off was a 18-foot high tidal wave that roared ashore cleansing everything in its path and leaving utter chaos behind it.

As is the nature of humans, Keys residents didn’t let the Great Hurricane hold them down for long and repairs were quickly made.  A major change from the days of Flagler was that this famous railroad was not replaced.  Instead, built over the bed of that rail line was what is now known as the end of U.S. Highway 1, the “Keys Highway” or the “Overseas Highway.”  Its presence today allows for hundreds of thousands of visitors to pass into the Keys and in most instances to bring along with them the toys of modernity that they sought to escape on the mainland.

Although the railroad is gone and it has been replaced by the highway, Monroe County and the Keys remain a safe haven for eccentrics who enjoy life at the end of the road.  Many Keys residents moved there to get away from the rules and regulations that govern life everywhere else.  Only on their arrival they discovered that despite their protestations, the rules and the regulations still apply.  Long-time residents of the Keys call themselves “Conch’s,” a reference to the Queen conch, a massive marine snail whose flesh is a delicacy.  Referring to someone in the Keys as a “Conch” is like a badge of honor, and referring to that person as “an old Conch” is akin to having been present when Moses found the tablets on the top of a mountain in the Middle East.

Given their escapist mentality, many Keys residents believe they should be their own governmental entity away from and in spite of the United States, the state of Florida, or Monroe County.  I’m sure they feel that way until there is a natural disaster like a hurricane and they need financial assistance but that is another story.  In the early 1980s at the height of one of a million controversies created by Ronald Reagan and his disreputable Administration (and quickly swept under the table by a protective media) was the decision by a group of Keys residents to break away from the United States in protest of Reagan and to create their own little country to be known as “The Conch Republic.”  To this day you can still purchase “Conch Republic” license plates and “Conch Republic” flags.  Someone in Miami still produces and sells “Conch Republic” passports so if you want to be a dual citizen without leaving the comforts of America, you can purchase a passport and travel the world as a Conch. 

On the day the Keys declared their independence from all government around them, then-Florida Governor Bob Graham was scheduled to land at the Marathon airport for some function.  When he arrived and was informed of that he was now in a sovereign nation (at least in the mind of those who created this sovereign nation) Governor Graham asked politely at the airport if he needed a passport to be there.  Nobody was sure if he did or not.

My first visit to Monroe County was in July 1984 when I was conducting research on an endangered species of bird that nests in Michigan and winters in the West Indies.  We wanted to put tiny radio transmitters on the backs of the birds and track their movements but before doing so we wanted to practice on a more widespread and more numerous common species and we wanted to do this in habitats and humidity similar to what we would occur a few months later in the West Indies. 

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service maintains and manages four National Wildlife Refuges in the Florida Keys and we made arrangements to conduct our research on the Big Pine Key and No Name Key units of the National Key Deer Refuge.  Despite this being the latter half of the 20^th century there were still all sorts of crooks and thieves and low-life’s in the keys and especially on weekends.  Given the extensive area of open ocean that surrounds the Keys they were (and remain) a prime location for drug runners to attempt to bring their products into the country.  The ever-vigilant U.S. Coast Guard maintained offices at both Marathon and Key West and one of their responsibilities in 1984 was drug interdiction.  To do so they needed to be out on the open ocean looking for bad guys.  I saw this as an opportunity to get out on the open ocean to look for birds I had not seen before that live on the edge of the Gulf Stream.  A quick stop at Station Marathon one day confirmed that I could go along with the Coast Guard on their Saturday foray out into the Gulf Stream from Marathon.  We never got that far.

When I arrived at Station Marathon I was given a quick briefing on how to keep from being thrown overboard if we encountered rough seas.  Afterward we took off to look for birds in the cobalt blue waters of the Gulf Stream. The Coast Guard was out there to aid stranded boaters and to check safety equipment and to look for drugs and contraband.  I was along simply for a Saturday morning of looking at birds.  Not long after leaving the Station, we received a call instructing us to be on the lookout for a stolen boat.  Hearing this, the boat’s captain knew exactly where to look and we changed course for the “Cuban Docks” on Vaca Key.  Apparently if you are going to rip someone off and try to hide afterward the most logical place to try to hide was the Cuban Docks.

We had a description of the boat but to me they all looked the same.  As we made our approach to the docks the Coast Guardsmen asked me to stand in the bow of their boat with my binoculars so I could read the registration numbers on those other boats we passed. This was exciting at first but soon it became boring.  That all changed when we came on to a thirty-foot shrimp boat because sitting in its wheel house was a simple, lone, unassuming marijuana plant that was growing in a bucket.  Not thinking much of it I casually mentioned to the Captain that there was a marijuana plant in that boat and was he interested in it?  He took my binoculars, looked at the potted pot plant, and exclaimed, “I’m going to seize that boat!” 

Our plans changed again when the pot plant was found.  First we docked the Coast Guard vessel next to the shrimp boat and kept it under surveillance.  Then we radioed the U.S. Customs Service and the Monroe County Sheriff’s Department to alert them to our find and both groups said they would send backup.  This was followed by the rather dramatic laying on of guns.  Two of the four Coast Guardsmen were designated the boarding party.  It was their responsibility in these situations to board boats and look for contraband.  The boarding party strapped on their .45 caliber revolvers and waited for Customs and the Sheriff to arrive.  In the mean time I stood with the other two Coast Guardsmen wondering what would happen next. 

Arrival of the reinforcements meant that the boarding party could jump into action and as they approached the shrimp boat, one of the two Coast Guardsmen still on the boat went below decks and came out carrying three 12 gauge shotguns.  He handed one shotgun to the boat captain and then loaded a shell in the chamber of the second gun and kept it for himself.  He then turned to me.

“You’re a Fed aren’t you,” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, “but I’m not in law enforcement.”

Thrusting the loaded shotgun in my hands he yelled “If they shoot, shoot back!”

The last thing I considered that morning when I got out of bed was that I would be in a shootout with drug runners on Vaca Key but that is what it was beginning to appear was going to happen.  I wanted this as much as I wanted a toothache but I wasn’t going to argue.

The boarding party, made up of two Coast Guardsmen, a Customs agent and a deputy sheriff approached the shrimp boat with their guns drawn.  As instructed I stood in the bow of the boat with the 12 gauge shotgun aimed at the wheel house of the boat.  It was my responsibility to shoot if anyone shot first.  Between them the four-person boarding party had enough armaments to support a small insurgency in Nicaragua yet as they made their way to the shrimp boat I maintained my aim at the unseen doper inside.

With guns drawn the boarding party walked up to the main door of the shrimp boat and yelled at the occupants to come out.  Nobody inside moved.  They yelled again and still nobody moved.  At the conclusion of the third yelling session, one of the Coast Guardsmen on the boat kicked in the door.  I flicked off the safety on my shotgun.  The entire scene reminded me of a script for some surreal movie but it was real life and real time.

No shots rang out as the four men entered the shrimp boat to confiscate the lone marijuana plant in the wheel house.  After what seemed like an hour inside they returned to the main door leading a rather disheveled individual who was shirtless and shoeless (this was the Florida Keys after all) man with scraggly hair.  His arms were securely behind his back and his wrists were held together by hand cuffs.  The Customs Agent yelled at us and told us they had found some cocaine on the table along with the supposedly malevolent marijuana plant.  He also informed us that we could take down our arms and prepare to tie off the boat.

With the boat shrimp boat secured to the Coast Guard cutter we slowly made our way back to Coast Guard Station Marathon where it was tied off and guarded by another Coast Guardsman who proceeded to do about face marches in front of the boat.  It was his responsibility to ensure that nobody came near that shrimp boat unless they were personally known to the Coast Guardsman.  Should some nefarious individual attempt to board the boat before the Customs Service could tear it apart, it was this Coast Guardsman’s responsibility to shoot that person.  Hearing this I made it triply certain that no matter where I walked for the rest of my time on the Coast Guard station I had someone with me who personally knew the man walking about faces in front of the shrimp boat.

The shrimp boat incident in the Cuban Docks severely cut into our time on the ocean but the Coast Guard had made a promise to me that they would get me offshore to look for birds.  After maybe two hours of paperwork and interviews we again left the dock headed for the open ocean.  As we passed under Seven Mile Bridge we received a call from Marathon but instead of telling us to go back to the Cuban Docks to look for another boat, it was Coast Guard Station Marathon wishing us a successful trip to find birds.

We didn’t find many birds because by the time we arrived on the Gulf Stream the winds had kicked up and the waves were horrendous and there was little else for us to do but ride out the tempest.  I suggested several times that we return to shore but the Coast Guard had promised me time on the ocean and they were bound and determined to give it to me. After an hour in the rollicking angry ocean we had two Coast Guardsmen down with sea sickness and the other two were beginning to look green. Rather than subject them to more discomfort I begged them to take us back to shore.  I could always get offshore another time to look for birds.

Our return to the station was greeted with high fives and congratulations because on dismantling the inside of the boat, Customs and the Coast Guard found several large packages of cocaine tethered to the inside walls.  Today’s action turned out to be the best bust of the month for Coast Guard Station Marathon and it all started with an off-handed remark about a single marijuana plant growing in a bucket in the wheel house.  As I was preparing to leave Marathon and return to Big Pine Key I asked one of the Coast Guardsmen if they didn’t come off a little too extreme in dealing with the shrimp boat owner at first because on the surface it appeared he had just one pot plant.  The Coast Guardsman snickered a bit and said “When you deal with low life’s every day you have to treat everyone like they’re going to kill you.”

I have had nothing but the utmost respect for the Coast Guard since that day.

Black-bellied Whistling-Ducks Perched on a Powerline

Earlier this morning I made my daily jaunt to pick up my daily jolt of go-juice at Starbucks (my cardiologist now allows me one cup of high-octane coffee per day - I knew I liked my cardiologist).  As I was driving out of the parking lot I noticed two very large lumps perched on the power line that sits adjacent to University Parkway.  My initial thought, given their size and the time of year, was that they were Black Vultures.  However on closer  inspection I was surprised to see a pair of Black-bellied Whistling-Ducks swaying back and forth trying to stay upright on the power line.

I've seen Wood Ducks perched on power lines before but until today they were the only species of duck that I have witnessed doing so. Wood Ducks are considerably smaller than Black-bellied Whistling-Duck and accordingly have a much lower center of gravity making the act of balancing on a thin wire that much easier for them.   It must have been quite an accomplishment for a duck as big as a Black-bellied Whistling-Duck to curl its webbed feet around a wire and then try to remain upright for as long as these two did.

It seems that the longer I observe nature the more I find that I don't know about nature.

Wisconsin Point - The Most Magical Place in the Cheesehead State

There are some places on the planet that are so special that they will never leave your mind.  For me, Doi Chaing Doh Thailand comes to mind immediately as does Ourzazate, Morocco. Closer to home are places like Lake Clark National Park and Preserve in Alaska and Cave Creek Canyon in southeast Arizona's Chiricahua Mountains or the indescribable Platte River in central Nebraska.  However for me no place is more magical than Wisconsin Point, an area known geologically as a baymouth bar just outside of Superior in Wisconsin's Douglas County.

My first time at "the Point" was during a wildly drunken smelt fishing trip there in high school.  Given the general nature of smelt fishing I guess its repetative to say "wildly drunken" and "smelt fishing" in the same sentence.  The two are one.  I went there with Steve Benavides and some other buddies and we consumed large quantities of beer and caught large numbers of smelt and then drove back to Rice Lake arriving in one piece early the next morning.  Two years later I traveled back to the Point with Lee Anderson and a couple of high school friends on another smelt fishing excursion. This time while in Lake Superior dragging a net to catch fish a large wave rolled over me, completely submerging me and filling my chest waders with frigid April water.  A large campfire helped remove some of the twinge of the cold but not much.

Recent satellite image of Wisconsin Point.  The dark brown water is Allouez Bay. Follow the Point to its end and you are at the ship entrance to Superior Harbor. The state to Wisconsin's west that begins with the letter M is on the other side of the entrance.

There were intermittent trips to the Point in subsequnt years but none are more memorable than May 22, 1975 when my then-wife and I traveled to the Point to watch spring migration. The morning dawned chilly and the sky was filled with fog. Everywhere you looked there was fog.  Migrating birds were not able to move in the fog and when we arrived on the Point we found songbirds everywhere. Every bush and every tree limb seemed to be overloaded with song birds.  Some, like a male Chestnut-sided Warbler, were so tame that they jumped on my arm and hopped around looking for insects.  As the fog slowly lifted we moved from the trees out to the beach and found it littered with migrating shorebirds that, likewaise, could not migrate in the heavy fog.  Eventually by early afternoon when the fog had completely lifted we looked out on Lake Superior and found it crawling with migrating ducks and cormorants and loons.  In seven hours that morning on the Point Ruth and I observed 135 species of birds. Every species of warbler, vireo and flycatcher that nests in northern Wisconsin or migrates through it was there as were all of the thrushes.   On the beach we found every species of shorebird that occurs regularly in Wisconsin as well as 12 species of duck, and both regulalry-occurring loons.  The Wisconsin state bird list at the time was about 400 species. Fully 34 percent of all the bird species ever recorded in the state - one third of the state list total - was found that morning on a stretch of land no more than 100 yards wide and 5 mile long that juts into Lake Superior.  We returned to Superior and the Point a month later and while driving by the dry-docks in Superior we saw a ship named the Edmund Fitzgerald.  History tells us that just a few months later the Fitz went down in a tremendous November gale on Lake Superior. She had sailed past the tip of Wisconsin Point on her way to sea after repairs.



I remember Harry Reasoner giving this news report on the evening news like it was yesterday.  The song is one of the most eerily poignant songs I've ever heard.  I met Gordon Lightfoot once and he told me this was the most difficult, heart-wrenching song he ever attempted.

When Daryl Tessen did his first revision of the Wisconsin bird finding guide titled "Wisconsin's Favorite Bird Haunts" I had the privilege of writing the chapter on Wisconsin Point.  I also wrote about a nearby overlook that Ruth and I had discovered that we called "Gull Bluff" because of the huge concentrations of gulls that are observable from that overlook.

My first job with the US Fish and Wildlfie Service was as an ascertainment biologist in the Regional Office in Minneapolis.  There we worked on a program called "Unique Wildlife Ecosystems" that involved identifying unique non-waterfowl habitats that were to be considered for inclusion in the National Wildlife Refuge system.  We nominated four areas in Wisconsin and now 36 years later all four have been protected in one form or another.  Those areas included what is now the Fox River Sandhill Crane Marsh National Wildlfie Refuge in southern Wisconsin, the Mink River marshes in Door County, the area now known as the Kinnickinnic River State Park west of River Falls (where I just happened to have gone to both undergraduate and graduate school), and the incomparable Wisconsin Point.  The Point is protected and managed by either Douglas County or the city of Superior (or both?) and will hopefully never be defiled by condominium developments like so many other areas along beautiful stretches of water.  The Point will still be there long after I am gone and that is how it should be.

My friend-since-grade school Pam Huseth and I recently had a discussion about Wisconsin Point and she sent me an article she had that tells some of the history and more recent controversies about this magical place.  I have reprinted that story below, probably in violation of some copyright laws but what the hell.  This is another avenue for informing people about the Point.  I hope you enjoy learning about this very special place.

Canku Ota
(Many Paths)
An Online Newsletter Celebrating Native America
	May 17, 2003 - Issue 87
	Wisconsin Point War Nears End
	by By Harry R. Zander of the Journal Staff - From The Milwaukee Journal - December 14, 1924
	credits: submitted by Timm Severud (Ondamitag)

Battle of Three Generations for the Last of the Chippewa Domains Picturesque Superior - The most desolate and at the same time the most expensive unimproved land in Wisconsin lies here, off the Superior Harbor, a throwback to the primitive days of the United States' conquest of the Indian lands, a bone of contention over which nearly $1,000,000 has been spent already, the center piece of an industrial project involving the future expenditure of between $15,000,000 and $20,000,000. Two generations have been born, loved, fought, reared families and completed the human span in death since the conflict over Wisconsin Point had its inception. A third generation is springing up, grounded as firmly in the principles of aboriginal ownership of the Point as were those old Chippewas under Chief Osagie, who opposed the dickerings with the white man back in 1841. There remains only four of the descendants of old Chief Osagie and his counselors who have been adamant against the blandishments and lures of the white invasion. Yet this quartet of swarthy half-breeds, turning up their noses at the loosened purse strings of America's wealthiest corporation, sneering at the oily tongued promises of lives of ease and wealth, ignoring the crushing advance of modern industry upon the wilderness, which has been their fathers' and their fathers' father' as far back as human memory goes, wage with the white men's own weapons their battle for their heritage. Tribes Defy Steel Company This heritage, as the average man would view it, is not much. It is 300 acres of desolation over which the snow-laden winds swirl from the long reaches of Lake Superior and the northland. A few jack pines dot its expanse. Wild grasses, brush and sand dunes cover it. It looks like a land that God forgot. Yet in the eerie winds that thresh the cones from the jack pines and whistle through the stubbles growth the red me of the white age hear the voices of a long line of ancestors about the council fires of the happy hunting grounds protesting against the passing of the last of the Chippewa domains. Legends of great warriors and tales of mighty huntsmen ride every breeze that caresses the peninsula and in every gale that lashes the point the red children of a great Indian nation see the wrath of the mighty Chippewas aroused. It is a wasteland, indeed, yet the unsentimental winds which drive the great $2,000,000,000 United States Steel Corporation, America's biggest combine, envision upon these desolate shores and wretched acres enormous docks to handle its iron and steel shipments. For more than a third of a century now sentiment prevailed over business and the untutored savages' offspring have withstood the encroachment of the corporation. Recent developments, however seem to indicate that the conflict is almost at an end. Negotiations Started in 1840 The history of Wisconsin Point, as it touches the subject of this review, dates back to 1840 when the white fathers of the government began to deal with the Fond du Lac Band of Chippewa Indians, through Chief Osagie for possession of the land. In 1842 the overtures of the whites were successful and a treaty was drawn up whereby the federal government obtained the 300-acre peninsula with the understanding that the Indians might continue to live there until ordered off by the President of the United States, after which homes would be provided on the Fond du Lac reservation in Minnesota. Instead of settling all differences over the land, however, the treaty merely marked the beginning of a prolonged era of litigation, armed warfare and general trouble. Hundreds of thousands of dollars have been spent on the land to make it ready for the big industrial project, working staring and in some case approaching completion in lulls of the conflict during which the Indians' claims were believed to have been finally settled. Five years after the treaty with Chief Osagie was signed, sealed and delivered, Frank Lemieux or La Swiss as he was sometimes called came down from Madeline Island and married a daughter of Chief Osagie taking up his residence on the point and gradually assuming leadership of the Chippewas. Lemieux was a half Indian and half French, having migrated from the La Pointe settlement on Madeline Island to marry Osagie's daughter. White Settler Enters Claim Seven years later, in 1853, during the period of when land speculation was at its height in the Northwest Territory, Joseph A. Bullen, a white man, cast appraising eyes upon the point. In February 1854, he made proof of his pre-emption entry, paid the required amount of cash and got a receiver's receipt for the land. A month later however, in March of the same year, the president ordered the land reserved for military purposes and in the following May the land department issued an order suspending the entry of Bullen. In 1855 the land was released from military reservation and the entry rights of Bullen were recognized by the government. Subsequently Bullen sold the Point to the Agate Land Company, a subsidiary of the United Steel Corporation. But Frank Lemieux and Chief Osage's daughter did not relish the idea of heir domain being converted into a forest of machinery and devices, which they did not understand. The others of the already dwindling Fond du Lac Band supported them in their protest. Years dragged by in weary succession with frequent attempts by Lemieux to contest the Bullen entry and to obtain from the government the title to the land, which he represented was his as Chief Osage's son-in-law. In 1891, however, the patent was finally issued to Bullen on his entry in 1854. Lemieux appealed from this action to the Secretary of the Interior, but the decision was affirmed by Hoke Smith, the Secretary at that time, and Bullen was once more confirmed in his possession. Defend Land With Guns Bitter fights ensued, the Indians holding possession of the land at the points of rifles for a considerable period. Quiet and order were restored again and diplomats attempted to pacify the Indians with settlements. Eventually the land was platted on one portion of the point and streets for a town laid out, a city park, called Independence Square, being included in the platting, so arranged to include Lemieux's home, presumable to prevent molesting him. The old warrior was getting on in years; however, and in 1902 he died, leaving a tangled web of legal red tape to be unraveled by his widow and five children. The widow survived him by only five years, when she too passed away, leaving the children and their descendants to carry on the battle. Several of the heirs of Lemieux moved to the City of Superior so that their children might have access to the schools but they always maintained some member of the family on Wisconsin Point to protect their title to the land through uninterrupted possession. The year after the death of Lemieux's widow the steel company's officials and the officials of the interested subsidiaries believed their title clear and all difficulties cleared away. The erection of a connecting rail line from the Minnesota Steel Co.'s plant west of the St. Louis River in Minnesota was constructed, skirting the city of Superior, and the erection of the long bridge from the mainland across a wide marshy stretch to the point was completed. The opportunity to build the largest ore loading docks on any of the Great Lakes appeared to be at hand at last. Another Settlement Made But the troubles were not yet over. Certain of the old Indians, spurring on the Lemieux descendants, laid fresh claim to the land, disregarding the Treaty of 1842 and pointing to their uninterrupted habitation of the land since the days when white men were not known here. The land company, having already spent $300,000 for its title and fully as much more on improvements, demurred and the course was taken to court. After hanging fire for years a financial settlement was made with all the descendants of the original settlers except three children and a grandson of Lemieux, the latter's son Frank Jr., having died leaving a son, Phillip.  A daughter of the original Lemieux, Mrs. Mary La Vierge making a settlement over the land concerned. The three other children contesting the case were Peter and John Lemieux and Mrs. Martineau. Including in the settlement the steel concern made with the Indians was an agreement that the land company would remove the Indian dead from a cemetery, which stood in the way of its proposed docks, to the Nemadji River Cemetery in Superior's East End. This was done in 1918 and further plans for improvements started by the Steel Corporation's subsidiary. For of the Lemieux descendants namely the two sons, Peter and John, the daughter, Maggie Martineau, and the nephew, Phillip Lemieux, however, still claim title to the land and in 1920 the brought suit against the Agate Land Company. Family Retains Square. Following a lengthy hearing Judge W. R. Foley on October 28, 1924, rendered a decision stating that the Agate Land Company had clear title to the land with the exception of the streets, belonging to the City of Superior, and the small strip in Independence Square, which Frank Lemieux and his descendants actually had occupied since 1846. That bit of land, no more than 150 by 80 feet, was awarded the Lemieux heirs. Now, attorneys handling the case believe that after the struggle of half a century, the Lemieux descendants will come to an agreement with the steel concern whereby the final bit of Indians land will pass into the hands of the white men, making possible the completion of their plans for extensive improvements. There still is a possibility however, that the Indians will refuse to accept the decision of Judge Foley and will appeal the case to a higher court. In that event, the battle of he ages will be renewed once more while the steel company's bridge and the network of its proposed docks rot away. Indians of Wisconsin Point are still carrying their fight to preserve the last of the sacred lands, against America's wealthiest corporation. Pictured above is a group of a group of the descendants of Chief Osagie and Frank Lemieux in the act of removing the bodies of their ancestors from an Indian cemetery to the main land.

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