Gonna Take A Sentimental Journey

Minnesota’s North Shore provided a day of sights that filled our senses. Today would be a day that filled our hearts as we headed north again, this time aiming for Hibbing and the Iron Range, Ely and its picturesque forests, and, most of all, Eveleth, birthplace of Susan’s grandfather.

(Susan is writing the blog, so it’ll be in first person.)

My maternal grandfather was among the first ice hockey players who was picked up by a professional team and received a signing bonus along with his contract. Two of his four brothers also played pro hockey. When WWII broke out, pro hockey and their careers ended for the duration, but their passion for the sport they grew up with never died. Returning to Eveleth was, for me, a return to my family and the immense legacy they left their relatively small town, and, ultimately, the country.

Our first goal for this day was the Iron Range, specifically Hull Rust Mahoning Mine in Hibbing, where one of my grandfather’s brothers was – many long years ago – a miner before becoming a soldier during the war.

I recall a trip I made to the mine with my parents in my teenage years, and seeing the unbelievably massive dump trucks that moved the raw iron ore from the pits to waiting trains that would then journey to Duluth, Minnesota and Superior in Wisconsin and then to wherever steel was needed to help build this great country.

My grandfather’s proud Slovenian ancestry is strong in Eveleth. My family still has a black-and-white photograph of a man in his coffin, with my ancestor Frank Prelesnik and four other people standing next to the coffin. When Simon and I went to Slovenia and met family, they knew who that man was (his last name, IIRC, was Laser), and had heard about his demise in the mine.

Hull Rust Mahoning Mine is now known as the Grand Canyon of the North, and the viewing area we visited left no doubt that it deserved its nickname. You cannot get the scale of this place from photos, or even from the viewing area above it.

Standing next to the massive dump trucks, their tires tower over you. Compare the up-close view of this one to the trucks you see in the mine.

While we were there we met a man who once worked in another mine, and he shared some stories with us about his time there, before ill health due to his work forced him into retirement. It only reinforced our opinion that the folks ‘round here are as hearty as they come.

We moved on, aiming for Eveleth. I know I still have family there, but I don’t recall who they are, nor where exactly they live. I do remember when the Hockey Hall of Fame opened and my grandfather and his brothers were in it. We stopped by, hoping the attendant would let us look at the case I’d seen during my first visit, which had their exhibit in it, but instead we got to chatting with a man whose grandfather played on the team with my grandfather, and we relived their glory days.

I was sorry not to see the exhibit again (Ruthie was in the car, and we couldn’t really leave her there for long), but we took a drive around town and came upon a permanent display in the downtown area, where the Big Stick is located.

I asked Simon to stop, and I’d pop over and take a quick look, just in case. I’m sure the look on my face was priceless when I saw my grandfather’s name and photo as part of the display.

Even more astonishing, he was in it not once, but twice. That’s him, directly in the center of this photo:

My heart filled to bursting that he had such recognition in a town that lives and breathes hockey. I could not have been happier for him!

Filled with pride, we spent the next two days along a not-so-scenic byway,

crossed from Duluth into Superior on the Duluth Aerial Lift Bridge,

checked out a gas station built by Frank Lloyd Wright,

saw Paul Bunyan and Babe the Big Blue Ox, who hang out near the center of downtown Bemidji,

and paid a visit to the stunning Jay Cooke State Park, with its swinging bridge over the St. Louis River, which is the largest tributary of our good friend Lake Superior,

---

---

then capped it all of at Lake Itasca, the location of the headwaters to the mighty Mississippi River.

---

What a gift it was when we left the park and came across a new mama doe and her baby, who couldn’t have been more than a day or two old. She was making some poor decisions as regards crossing the road, and several of us stopped our cars and encouraged her to head back into the woods. I like to think she wised up, and that her baby stands a fighting chance at a good, long life.

But even that heartwarming encounter pales ever so slightly in comparison to seeing my Papa again, on skates, playing the game he loved.