Great Lakes Guru

Bell’s Hopslam Ale: a Confession

2012-01-22T11:07:00.000-05:00

Flickr photo by edwin.bautista

I have a confession to make: I’d never tried Bell’s Hopslam until last night. Actually, I have two confessions to make: Never tried Hopslam, don’t much care for hopped-up beer gimmicks, which is why I’d been avoiding Hopslam. Oh, how wrong I was.

Hopslam is no gimmick at all; it’s more than just liquid hops in a glass. Hopslam is smooth, almost like nectar — mead? — practically a dessert drink. A solid dollop of honey smooths out the hops and puts this Double India Pale Ale leaps and bounds ahead of its contemporaries, for pure drinkability. Plus, at 10% ABV it has some serious kick. Hopslam is borderline dangerous.

Starting with six different hop varietals added to the brew kettle & culminating with a massive dry-hop addition of Simcoe hops, Bell's Hopslam Ale possesses the most complex hopping schedule in the Bell's repetoire. Selected specifically because of their aromatic qualities, these Pacific Northwest varieties contribute a pungent blend of grapefruit, stone fruit, and floral notes. A generous malt bill and a solid dollop of honey provide just enough body to keep the balance in check, resulting in a remarkably drinkable rendition of the Double India Pale Ale style.

When winter rolls around I typically switch to stout. Hopslam has made me a convert. Well done, Bell’s, well done.

Justin Verlander Talks "Hot Foot" with Conan O'Brien [VIDEO]

2012-01-15T12:45:00.002-05:00

Detroit Tigers pitcher Justin Verlander made a recent appearance on Conan and discussed, among other things, the now famous "hot foot" of Don Kelly. To check out more of Verlander, head to MLB.com. And in case you're worried about the color of Verlander's shoes —

Amazing all the comments on brown shoes with black suit on Conan.Lol.Suit was navy blue with brown accents.#knowwhatimdoing.
— Justin Verlander (@JustinVerlander) January 12, 2012

"Beer People" in the Great Beer State

2011-12-22T11:59:00.000-05:00

Beer People from Alan Torres on Vimeo.

"Beer People," winner of "Best Documentary" at U-M's Lightworks Film Festival Fall 2011, takes an in-depth look at the people behind Michigan craft beer, the culture surrounding it, and why Michigan brews the best beer in the world.

West Michigan Pike: Northern Link of the Dixie Highway

2011-12-04T06:39:00.000-05:00

I used to love when my grandparents referred to driving north as "heading up the Pike." People in West Michigan still use the term occasionally, but you don't hear it as much anymore. "The Pike," of course, is now U.S. 31 (mostly), a cruise along the Lake Michigan coast from Chicago to Mackinaw, with plenty of pit-stops along the way. To plan your trip up the Pike, check out the original 1915 West Michigan Pike tourist directory from Michigan Beachtowns — the brochure remains relevant 100 years later, and it's "LakeShore all the Way."

Calling Muskegon’s Hackley House

2011-11-27T18:15:00.001-05:00

Charles Hackley’s name is on nearly every landmark in Muskegon — libraries, parks, hospitals — and statues of the lumber baron are all over the city. He’s the most iconic figure in Muskegon’s history, and while it’s a shame how many trees were felled to build his immense fortune, Hackley’s philanthropy and his sense of style can’t go unnoticed. To see how the 1% lived during the lumber boom, visit the Hackley and Hume Historic Site during their special holiday hours, and wander around his Victorian era mansion.

Question for readers: Hackley’s phone number was 44. Since he would have been the first person in Muskegon to own a phone, does that number indicate that he was the 44th person in the state of Michigan to own a phone, or is that nationally? The tour guides weren’t sure, and I’m dying to find out.

To see more photos, head to Google+.

Redcoat Tavern, Royal Oak | Brits, Burgers & Michigan Beer

2011-11-07T09:43:00.000-05:00

Dining with the enemy

The burgers are coming, the burgers are coming! And they’re delicious — juicy, tasty, and made-to-order with plenty of topping options. On my first trip to Redcoat Tavern I had my old standby: cooked medium with Swiss cheese and bacon. When sampling a new burger I order bacon and Swiss so I can accurately assess the quality. Compared to other Michigan burgers, Redcoat is closing in on Casey’s Tavern, and I rank it somewhere in the Spike’s Keg ‘o’ Nails ballpark. That’s saying a lot.*

And while there’s something odd about dining at a British-themed burger joint whilst in America’s quintessential French city, the atmosphere makes the food even tastier. Redcoat Tavern is trimmed in dark wood, old and dingy, and has high-backed red vinyl seats — it seems like the kind of place where executives and crooks alike wheel and deal under cloak.

Bacon and Swiss with a side of Short's

On my first trip the this Detroit mainstay, what truly made me a believer was the beer menu. Short’s Brewing makes an exclusive Imperial London Porter just for Redcoat Tavern. The “Publican Porter” is dark as the bar itself, loaded with licorice, chocolate, and molasses. “Big, round and integrated with smooth body and dry finish,” according to the menu, and at 9.15% it packs a real punch while remaining understated and drinkable.

Always a bonus to dine on Woodward Avenue.

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*Still no Station Grill.

Bob Seger on Ann Arbor's Main Street, Zeeb Road, Brown Jug

2011-10-30T10:26:00.000-04:00

From Piano Piano!

Fascinating interview by Bob Needham, Entertainment Director, AnnArbor.com: "Bob Seger reflects on growing up in Ann Arbor, looks forward to concert at EMU." Is there song that does a better job of marrying sound and sentiment than Main Street? The music sounds like an old Michigan bar as heard from the sidewalk.

"Chief Pontiac: Detroit's Original Badass" | Talk by Brian Mulloy

2011-10-12T09:05:00.000-04:00

TEDxDetroit presentation by Brian Mulloy of Michigan Essay.

Michigan Chestnuts from DeKlein Orchards

2011-10-03T09:09:00.000-04:00

Mark DeKlein is heir to DeKlein Orchards, a family-run chestnut farm located southwest of Grand Rapids. I first met Mark at a tailgate in East Lansing when this former Sparty mascot arrived on campus with a burlap sack and a homemade roaster, an old keg with Roasted Chestnuts painted on the side.

After starting a fire and arranging the roasting and cooling pans, Mark meticulously cut slits along the hard outer shell of the chestnuts before throwing them on the roaster. The slits keep pressure from building since chestnuts will fire off the roaster like missiles if it isn’t released. Once cooked and slightly cooled, the shells peel off easily, exposing a meaty inside. Most tailgaters compared the flavor to a rich, nutty carrot. Mark says he prefers to eat them roasted, but grinding the chestnut into flour for breading fish, chicken, beef, or venison is great, and he’s quick to point out the nutritional benefits and the fact that chestnut flour is gluten free. A staple of European and Asian diets, chestnuts are finding their way back into the U.S. “Chestnuts just haven’t been available enough for our consumption. We plan to change that,” Mark said. “Michigan is one of the best kept secrets of the county; in reality it’s a garden. The west side of the state is virtually California with winters. We have very good, well-drained soil, diverse enough to handle vegetables and berries, row crops, and fruit trees.” And with the recent emphasis on urban farming, Mark is “investing in chestnuts as a future in agriculture. It’s grain that grows toward the sky, some over 200 feet, consuming very little space.”

Mark is a fan of Jolly Pumpkin’s experimental chestnut beer and any other chestnut recipe variation Michiganders can come up with. “It’s not that you can’t find chestnuts anywhere else, but it’s usually the stories, fun, and the passion that keeps our customers loyal.” DeKlein Orchards has 20 acres of Colossal and Chinese variety chestnut trees, and early October is harvest time. For recipes ranging from soups to stuffing to just plain chestnuts, visit dekleineorchards.com/recipes-2. In addition to chestnuts, DeKleine Orchards grows sweet and tart cherries, walnuts, hazelnuts, and peaches, and produces 100 gallons of maple syrup a year, which Mark highly recommends.

Originally published by Pure Michigan Connect on October 6, 2010.

Solar in Ypsilanti from Google Search Stories

2011-09-30T08:44:00.000-04:00

Camping with the Micro-Bears of South Manitou Island

2011-09-26T09:34:00.001-04:00

Did you know South Manitou Island has bears? Micro-bears, that is. "Chipmunks" to the layperson. When camping on the island, treat these furry creatures like real bears. Hide your food, hide your wife, hide your kids. They’re watching and they will invade. On a camping trip a couple weeks back one brave micro-bear even jumped from a tree at my head. Don’t let the chipmunks scare you; camping on South Manitou is amazing. Here’s a few highlights and recommendations for your trip to the island.

South Manitou Island

South Manitou Island sits offshore in Lake Michigan, part of Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore, named "Most Beautiful Place in America" by ABC News in 2011. The island was carved out by glaciers, and is part of an island chain that extends north to the Straits of Mackinac. South Manitou’s ecosystem is largely unspoiled and unique.

According to Chippewa legend, a mother bear and her two cubs attempted to swim across Lake Michigan to escape a forest fire in Wisconsin. The mother bear made it to Michigan but her two cubs drown. The Sleeping Bear dune on the mainland is the eternally waiting mother bear, and North and South Manitou Islands are the cubs.

Getting to the Island

Unless you have your own boat and are willing to brave the choppy harbor, South Manitou Transit is the only way on or off the island. The website says the ride is an hour and a half, but if you have to stop at North Manitou first to drop off rustic campers, count on at least three hours. Pack your bags tightly for the rough, wet ride. And bring cash, snacks and drinks are available for purchase, including beer and cocktails.

Setting Up Camp

Visit the National Park Service website for details about reservations. I recommend reserving a group site, even if you’re party is only four campers. Group sites have added space and a private fire ring (available only on group sites), which makes the larger spot well worth the extra cost. Some campsites are near running water and an outhouse, others are not; plan accordingly, and pack light. The closest campsites are a mile hike from the dock, some are as many as five miles. Most of all, enjoy the views of Sleeping Bear and the sound of waves crashing just outside your tent.

Island Highlight: Shipwrecks, Old Growth Cedars, Apples

The water is crystal clear, tropical. Even if it’s cold, do yourself a favor and dive in. On the south side of the island visit the shipwreck, Francisco Morazan, and about two miles inland take a hike through the old growth white cedar forest. The trees are over 500-years old, and are as big around as redwoods. While you’re hiking the middle of island visit a few abandoned farms of the island’s former inhabitants and enjoy some amazing apples from their old orchards — delicious.

Recommendations and Words of Caution

Bring water shoes. The lake shore can be wet and rocky.
Camp early or late in the season. We hiked 15 miles in one day. Avoiding heat and bugs is essential.
The western shore is VERY rocky. If you plan to hike the perimeter of the island, be prepared.
Poison ivy is prehistorically large, and it’s everywhere. Stay on the trails.
For truly rustic camping, check out North Manitou Island, if you dare.
And, of course, hide your food and hygiene products — Micro-bears are watching.

Here’s a collection of photos to inspire your camping adventure. Enjoy.

More than Art in Grand Rapids

2011-09-21T12:24:00.000-04:00

While you’re visiting Grand Rapids for ArtPrize you’ll need to fuel up on food and drink. Here are 20 Grand Rapids must-sees to keep you entertained. This year I’m planning to go all-out, get a hotel room, gorge myself on local cuisine. Can’t wait.

Here’s a look back at last year’s ArtPrize — boy, do I miss Steam Pig. I propose we keep one iconic piece each year as a permanent fixture in the city. What do you think? Could Steam Pig have been our Gateway Arch, our Eiffel Tower?

Touring Detroit in the New Chrysler 300 Spot

2011-09-20T11:21:00.000-04:00

via @AbbyHart

Vote “Lemon Rabbit” Hopquila Cocktail | Drink Michigan Contest

2011-09-15T15:12:00.000-04:00

Voting is open in the Drink Michigan Craft Cocktail Contest, and I’m stumping for votes for Brian Doughty’s “Lemon Rabbit” cocktail, featured here on Great Lakes Guru and on the Gourmet Underground Detroit blog. The “Lemon Rabbit” is delicious in its simplicity, made with New Holland’s Hopquila, fresh-squeezed lemon, and tonic. Visit the “Lemon Rabbit” entry on the Drink Michigan blog and leave a comment to vote. In fact, leave three comments, you can vote that many times. If “Lemon Rabbit” wins it will earn a spot on the cocktail menu and Cliff Bell’s. Cheers.

Derek Jeter's High School Yearbook Photos

2011-08-31T11:33:00.002-04:00

Before the New York Yankees Derek Jeter was a two-sport athlete at Kalamazoo Central. He followed the natural progression from "Winterfest Court," to computer lab tutor, to Major League Baseball. Photos compiled with help from the Western Michigan University Archives Library and Kalamazoo Central High School.

Freshman Year

Freshman Year

Freshman Year Baseball

Sophomore Year

Sophomore Year

Sophomore Year Baseball

Sophomore Basketball

Junior Year

Junior Year

Junior Year Baseball

Junior Year Basketball

Senior Year

Derek Jeter Senior Picture

Senior Year Baseball

Senior Year Basketball

Former Michigan Supreme Court Justice John Voelker on Fishing

2011-08-19T09:25:00.000-04:00

"I fish because I love to; because I love the environs where trout are found, which are invariably beautiful, and hate the environs where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly; because of the television commercials, cocktail parties and assorted social posturing I thus escape; because, in a world where most men seem to spend their lives doing things they hate, my fishing is at once an endless source of delight and an act of small rebellion; because trout do not lie or cheat but respond only to quietude and humility and endless patience; because I suspect that men are going along this way for the last time, and I for one don't want to waste the trip; because mercifully there are no telephones on trout waters; because only in the woods can I find solitude without loneliness; because bourbon out of an old tin cup tastes better out there; because maybe someday I will catch a mermaid; and, finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant - and not nearly so much fun." — John Voelker | via @jrt219

Herman Melville on the Great Lakes

2011-08-18T09:34:00.000-04:00

“For in their interflowing aggregate, those grand fresh-water seas of ours,—Erie, and Ontario, and Huron, and Superior, and Michigan,—possess an ocean-like expansiveness, with many of the ocean’s noblest traits; with many of its rimmed varieties of races and of climes.” — Herman Melville, Moby Dick | via @AdamSchuitema

Discover Downtown Detroit

2011-08-16T15:26:00.000-04:00

with Quicken Loans | via @amberto

Battle of Wheats: Bell’s Oberon vs. Arcadia’s Whitsun

2011-08-11T11:09:00.001-04:00

Bell’s Oberon, in many respects, is the gold standard of Michigan beer. Oberon has the widest reach and the most mass appeal, and the release of Oberon in the spring has become a holiday in Michigan. But as the big kid on the block, Oberon, justifiably or not, is often criticized. No sooner had I discovered Oberon as an undergrad at WMU than Kalamazoo beer enthusiasts started selling me on Arcadia's Whitsun as a superior alternative.

While Oberon needs little introduction, Whitsun, a “full-flavored” summer brew, flew largely under the radar until recently when Arcadia stared selling it in cans. I’ve enjoyed both beers, but the debate about which is Michigan’s best summer beer rages on. Recently—by accident—I just happened to have a six-pack of both in my refrigerator, so I decided to sample them together to see which of the two I actually preferred.

The differences begin at bottles-cans and keep going from there. Whitsun is dark orange in color, almost brownish, whereas Oberon is light orange, almost yellow. Whitsun is much cloudier than Oberon, and has a larger, thicker head. The feel and taste of the two beers is worlds apart. Whitsun is all spice and orange—tingly, with a tart finish that stays on the tongue. Oberon on the other hand is subdued with a creamy flavor that is distinctly wheat as opposed to the more fruit-flavored Whitsun. Oberon is smooth, where Whitsun is surprising and lively.

In the right setting I can enjoy either—beers are situational. But since the post is titled “battle of wheats” I’ll force myself to pick a winner. As a summer beer, brewed to be refreshing, Oberon is a bit smoother and easier to drink. If I’m sitting on a porch with a cooler full of beer, I’ll give the edge to Oberon, but I sure wouldn’t turn down a Whitsun.

Watch the short film "The ArtPrize Effect"

2011-08-08T08:36:00.001-04:00

via @JohnSerba | Read more at Mlive

Young entrepreneur turns lemonade stand into thriving business

2011-08-06T08:44:00.000-04:00

"Kuipers, 9, of Muskegon, has taken the classic lemonade stand, an old standby for children looking to make some money during the summer, and improved on it. Instead of selling a tiny paper cup of instant lemonade for 25 cents, Sebastian’s Gourmet Lemonade, his stand at the Muskegon Farmer’s Market, sells his own secret recipe lemonade, starting at $2 for a 12-ounce glass, and adds 16 different flavors for 25 cents each."

This "young entrepreneur" happens to be the son of a friend of mine from Muskegon. Impressive. Read more and view photos at the Muskegon Chronicle: Young entrepreneur turns lemonade stand into thriving business | MLive.com

People mover, bad decision: Sufjan Stevens performs "Detroit"

2011-07-26T09:24:00.000-04:00

via @JoshSikkenga

No Sleep ‘til Oscoda: Following the AuSable River Canoe Marathon

2011-07-15T09:06:00.000-04:00

Training started months ago. During winter, racers can be spotted on the AuSable River, paddling first against the current, then back downstream under the snow-covered pines of northern Michigan. On days they don’t paddle—when a partner is busy, or a car breaks down—paddlers find other ways to train, jogging along back-roads or snowshoeing on Grayling’s frozen Lake Margrethe. And as soon as the ice melts they’re out there paddling too, up and down the shore.

Lightweight racing canoes

Before I visited Grayling, I knew paddling to be a summer leisure activity, an excuse to drink beer and get a tan while floating down a river. Boy was I wrong. For competitors in the AuSable River Canoe Marathon, paddling is a year-round test of endurance. They race for the physical challenge, for the thrill of being on the water at night, and, in some cases, to punish themselves. Mark Koenig, a paddler from Woodstock, Illinois, explained in his 2008 racer bio: “It looked like it hurt a lot and I like pain.”

The AuSable River Canoe Marathon is 120-miles, from Grayling to Oscoda, finishing where the river runs into the cold water of Lake Huron. The race takes between 14 and 19 hours to complete, during which, for periods, paddlers will stroke as many as 120 times per minute. In 2004 the temperature dropped to 32 degrees in the middle of the night—in the middle of summer, mind you. If the cold doesn’t get to you, exhaustion or delirium might. Officials routinely pull racers from the river when their bodies fail them. Still some are able to convince the officials to let them continue, at which point they’re strapped into life vests in case they lose consciousness and fall into the water.

If they reach the finish line in Oscoda, racers arrive shell-shocked, tailbones bleeding from friction, and bodies torn by a race that takes them from the verge of hypothermia to near heatstroke. Their muscles visibly twitch and spasm as they drag their waterlogged bodies from the finish line to the recovery area. Over long stretches of race, if they have any fluid left in their bodies, paddlers routinely piss on themsselves to avoid stopping and losing time, which has to be washed off in Oscoda. During the early stages, before cold and exhaustion drill into their bones, racers seem to enjoy the crowd’s cheers. By the time they reach the finish, they’re lucky if they recognize their own families.

The Beginning of the End

By mid-afternoon on race day, fans have staked their claim along the city streets and on banks of the river. Spectators line the streets in a crowed mass waiting for the 9 p.m. start. Canoes are taken from storage, having been prepared in the morning with lights, food packs, batteries, electrical wiring, lots of tape, and a small collection of first-aid items, and then checked by race officials. Racers stretch and hug families, then carry their canoes to the positions they earned in the sprints the previous day.

The racers take their positions, and the fans line the street. The pistol sounds and teams lift their canoes and carry them on shoulders or at their sides, sprinting through the heart of the city in a crowded footrace, jockeying for position while fans scream their names. The panicked dash for the river might just be the worst imaginable way to begin an endurance race, but it certainly pumps the crowd full of adrenaline. Spectators yell as loud as they can, for no particular racer, for every racer. It’s a moment of pride for the city. Fans seem to cheer for Grayling, and even to cheer for their own cheering. The paddlers run as though the entire race hinges on the footrace to the river.

At a shallow entry point downtown, racers splash into the headwaters of the AuSable, and paddle furiously to get out of town and separate from the crowd. The spectators, for their part, sprint up the street to the first bend in the river to watch the paddlers speed by in a confused, violent cluster. Paddlers, at this early stage, bump each other, run into low hanging branches, and create furious wake that laps into the yards of riverfront homes. Fans continue to yell, though it’s tough to say whether any of the messages are received.

Then, as suddenly as the race begins, the racers are past and the crowd, after considering the calm river for a moment, turns and leaves downtown. Some fans go home, some crack open a beer and begin a long night of partying at bridges and dams soon to be as crowded as Mardi Gras. Feed teams, meanwhile, finish preparations and depart for pit stops along the river to tend to their paddlers, and the paddlers begin, as Jim Harrison described in a 1973 Sports Illustrated article, a night of “unmitigated punishment.”

All Night Long

Teams paddle rural stretches of river, past cabins and fishing camps. During the night, boats stick together to help light the river and to drift off each other’s currents. It’s a competition, but a friendly one (for most). In many ways this is like car racing. Only the elite teams, who everybody knows by name, are vying for one of the top spots. Last year’s defending champions, Andy Triebold and Steve LaJoie, are expected to win again—it’s nearly a foregone conclusion. The rest are fighting against personal records, and to prove something to themselves—to say they did it.

Feed teams (think pit-stop crews) drive to predetermined spots and wade armpit deep in the rushing waters of the AuSable to hand off dry clothes and food to their paddlers. Eventually, the yellow glow of a flashlight will come bobbling through the thick black night, and the holler, “hup,” a call from the back paddler signaling the front man to paddle on the opposite side of the canoe. For the best teams, the hand-off of food items, the disposal of drink containers, it’s seamless. For the rest, it’s a struggle to make a pass without stopping, or worse, tipping.

Canoes are equipped with drink holders, where feed teams place bottles, connected to hoses, that stretch to the paddlers mouth—usually filled with some variation of watered-down Gatorade—feeding tubes for these competitors. The bottles and tubes are convenient for paddlers, but a nightmare for feed teams who hand off drinks without touching the canoe, and clean up old bottles floating in the river. Paddlers are mostly conservationists, and littering is not tolerated.

In 2008 I followed my first canoe marathon. I fed for Sean Casey, then 29-years old, and his 83-year-old racing partner, paddling legend Al Widing Sr. There were a lot of fans cheering Al at every stop—the city loves him, understandably, and it does put the feed team under some pressure. At Luzerne, a busy stop for feed teams, Sean stopped the canoe. Al yelled at him to keep going, but Sean back-paddled and demanded a dry shirt for Al, who was shivering in his thin frame. Before paddling onto Mio Dam, Sean, who typically has a happy-go-lucky demeanor, said very seriously to the feed team, “hot soup at Mio.” When asked if he wanted ice cubes in his soup he said very matter-of-fact about the soup he would carry between his legs, “just let me know if it’s a ball-scorcher.”

While paddlers paddle and feed teams hustle, casual fans head from bridge to bridge to cheer the race, and to drink. Party buses, cars, and floodlights line bridges that, during any other night, would be pitch dark. Fans have their own rituals, their own pit stops and watering holes. This year will be my first year following the race as a true fan, not as a member of a team. In Luzerne—at least as I understand it—there’s a traditional stop at Ma Deter’s for shots and beers. I’m planning to embrace the fan experience, so if you’re in the neighborhood, stop by and say hello.

Mio Dam: Welcome to the Family

Suffering

Mio is home to a dam, the first dam, and thus the first portage of the race. Racers arrive in the middle of the night, between midnight and 4 a.m. Mio is the last stop for many fans, who by this point in the race are stirred into a drunken frenzy or on the verge of passing out, stumbling around the dam, yelling at racers, pissing in the dark woods. On race night the entire city of Grayling lines the 1 / 8 of a mile trail from the top of the dam to the river below.

I married into Grayling—canoe racing is not in my DNA. Yet, for my first marathon I somehow ended up on the feed team of a legend. My specific job was "bank runner.” When canoe number 09 portaged at the dams my job was to run next to Sean and Al, hand them food rations, ask for requests, and shout down instructions to the rest of the feed team standing in the river waiting to hand out Gatorade, soup, dry shirts, flashlights.

At 3 a.m. I found myself standing on the spillway of Mio Dam, watching tiny lights come into view on the opposite side of the pond with not a clue how to proceed. With nerve-wracking limited instruction, I squinted across a fog-covered pond, hoping to see the tiny flickering light of my canoe. I cheered for their arrival, I dreaded their arrival. My task was to clean the spillway after they dumped the contents of the canoe, then sprint next to them down the dam’s steep incline.

Cleaning up the mess on the spillway was one concern, but what most worried me was that I would be running next to Al’s canoe, a man who garners more respect from the city of Grayling than Bo Schembechler would if he rose from the grave and returned to Ann Arbor. If I were to accidentally trip him—and I thought this over and over for 30 long, dark minutes—my wife’s entire hometown, drunk since 9 p.m. and pumped full of nervous energy, waited for me. They’ll never find my body, I thought. Do not trip this man.

Simple Pleasures of Morning

For a member of the feed team, morning brings a bit of clarity to what, since 3 a.m., has been a hallucination of pine trees, two-tracks, and frigid, fast-moving waters. At 6 a.m., after waking from a 20-minute nap in the backseat of a car, it’s a nice relief after what for so long had been a dark, swirling mystery to step out and see the water in daylight.

In 2009 I was just awake, and watching paddlers go by at the end of a boat launch. A canoe came around a bend, and while reaching for supplies from the feed team, the paddlers tipped. They stood in waist deep water, like a baptism I thought, and the front paddler yelled, “Why the fuck did that have to happen,” quite literally to the sky, as if God had ordained they be punished. Just when the day was bound to warm, they were dipped in the freezing water by an unseen hand. The racer punched the water until his team forced him back in the boat. Up until that point I had been cold, wet, tired of the sand in my shoes. Suddenly, my life didn’t seem so bad.

Finish

And things only get better, because not far away is the Chat n Chew in Glennie, home to the best sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit known to man. No breakfast could taste better after a long uncomfortable night. About this same time the morning fog sets over the dam-created ponds, and the course can get confusing. A few racers have navigation equipment, but most don’t. It’s not unheard of for paddlers to circle aimlessly on the pond for long periods, made more dangerous because the water on the pond is deep enough to drown a paddler whose arms are already on the verge of failure and too tired to swim. So you eat your breakfast biscuit, thankful for the gifts bestowed upon you, and—if you’re clever—savor fresh drip coffee brewed with power stolen from a hydroelectric dam.

By late morning paddlers enter the Huron National Forest. The sun is hot, and beats violently on paddlers who just hours before had been all but frostbitten. At this point, finishing is all in the mind, a section of race that Sean Casey said is “peaceful and quiet, like zen.” Paddlers run smoothly along the wide, flat AuSable, and periodically throw themselves over dams, run down spillways, and get back in their tiny racing canoes—the action seems almost automatic, at least to the remaining spectators, who peer over the high banks at scenic lookouts and cheer. The race seems all but over, but of course, it’s not. At Whirpool, the last viewing spot, 40 minutes before the finish, leisure tubers—drinking beer and unaware of the marathon’s existence—enter the river, creating floating obstacles for blind-tired paddlers, what racer Nate Winkler described in 2009 as “God’s last cruel trick.”

If racers can navigate the last obstacle, they’re nearly finished. At the end of the race, paddlers roll out of boats and wash their urine off in the river. After parking their canoe onshore and gathering their bearings—if they can—teams enjoy a hearty meal, and a cheap motel room in Oscoda. Racers and feed teams tell war stories, swim in Lake Huron, and sleep if off. Beer will never taste better in your life. The few fans who make it to the finish line eventually go home, and as quickly as the racers vanished into the northern Michigan woods to start their night, the race is over. For the fans, next year’s race is a long way off. But for the paddlers, training has already begun.

Prepare for 2011

The 64th annual Weyerhaeuser AuSable River Canoe Marathon starts July 30 in Grayling and finishes July 31 in Oscoda. Total prize money this year promises again to be over $50,000. For more details visit www.ausablecanoemarathon.org, and read “A Machine with Two Pistons” by Jim Harrison in the SI Vault. As reception and battery life allow, I’ll post updates during the race on Twitter at @TimChilcote, and last year’s hashtag was #ARICM. On you mark, get set, paddle —

Race Overview

Racer’s Perspective of the Start

Huron River Fly-Fishing Lessons from Ann Arbor Trout Unlimited

2011-07-11T07:51:00.001-04:00

Mike Mouradian is honest with his students. “There’s a lot of ways to fish,” he tells them. “Fly-fishing is the oldest way, but it’s not the most efficient.”

Mouradian, president of Ann Arbor Trout Unlimited, teaches fly-fishing basics at Gallup park four times a summer. A retired high school biology teacher, Mouradian has a knack for imparting wisdom on the art of angling and adding levity to the challenges and frustrations of the sport. “I’m a fly-fisherman, which means I make fishing as impossible as possible.”

Mouradian explains bug life cycle

During the four hour course Mouradian covers river basics, knots, bugs and flies. Students practice casting into a hula hoop in an open lawn, and eventually practice their technique on the water. Mouradian also gives a crash-course on purchasing rods, reels, lines, and flies, and tells students to be careful about spending too much money at the start, and to invest only in basics. He admits the sport can be expensive, and since catching fish can be difficult, the sport is, at least partially, about fashion. “In fly-fishing,” he says, “it’s more important to look good than to fish good.”

Joking aside, Mouradian tells students it’s most important they learn to respect the river and appreciate nature. “I try to get people involved with the river on a personal, intimate level,” he says. “Fly-fishing is good for the environment, because it teaches conservation.”

A former student sparked Mouradian’s interest in fly-fishing and he’s been at it ever since; for the past 25 years. An avid fly-fisherman, he teases students that he hopes they never seriously take up fishing as a hobby. He wants to create a group of people who respect the water. “I don’t want competition,” he tells them. “I don’t really want you to fish. I want you to look at the river.”

Among the aspiring anglers at the June 18 class was Andrew Vreed, a fourth-year internal medicine student at the University of Michigan, who was looking for a new way to get outside. “I always liked the idea of fishing and this lesson was a way to pick it up,” he said.

Mouradian and Vreed practice casting

As Vreed worked to master roll casting, Mourdain reminded him that style is one of the most important points to master. “Just look how cool you look,” he told Vreed.

A new breed of cool looking fly-fisherman, in Mouradian’s view, is exactly what the river needs; conservationists championing the river and keeping the water full of trout. “If you take care of the streams,” he says, “fish will take care of themselves.”

The class is part of a partnership between Ann Arbor Trout Unlimited and the Huron River Watershed Council’s summer recreation series. The council’s mission is to promote stewardship, preservation, and education about the river. Mel Ring, membership coordinator of HRWC, is quick to point out that, “As an urban river, the Huron is the cleanest in southeast Michigan.”

Fly-fishing equipment is provided at the classes, and Ann Arbor Trout Unlimited brings lunch for participants. For more information on the next season’s classes and similar programs through the HRWC, contact Mel Ring at 734-769-5123 or mring@hrwc.org, and visit www.hrwc.org.

The mighty Huron River

Liberty Street Brewing Makes Good Fruit Beer

2011-07-06T12:54:00.000-04:00

Finally, a fruit beer I enjoy — Liberty Street Brewing Company’s Black and Blue Blonde Ale, a version of their standard Liberty Belle Blonde, with blueberries and blackberries added to the mix. The berry flavors are understated, with just a hint of fruit at the finish — a refreshing summer beer without the overpowering flavors that typically keep me away from similar seasonal fruit beers.

Black and Blue Blonde

If you can score one of the picnic tables in the outdoor seating area, Black and Blue Blonde is a great option for a sunny day in Plymouth. As a side note, I particularly like the brick walls around the patio — like castle fortifications, which is pretty cool. Outdoor seating is limited, but fortunately the atmosphere inside is just as good. Hardwood floors and a classic bar give the place a real neighborhood feel.

Pints are $5 and the menu is small, so patrons are encouraged to order delivery from other local restaurants. Liberty Street brews in small batches, with just six beers in the regular rotation, plus seasonal options. Brewing since 2008, Liberty Street is located at 149 W. Liberty St. in Plymouth, in the old downtown area. For more information visit libertystreetbeer.com.