And now what? We Already Saw the Fish.

Because of the latest bed bug scare we slept in our sleeping bags.

The next morning we packed up and headed out.

 Since the loggers cabin was closed for the season we ate at the Norske Nook.

 The Nook is a small "chain" in western Wisco. I'd always seen signs for the Osseo location, but this was first time inside one of the esteemed breakfast and pie joints. 


I'm happy to report that the food was really good, in an oh so Norweigan-American way (i.e. bland looking, but scrumptious nonetheless).

Scott enjoyed his wild rice french toast with apples. I got a lefse breakfast wrap of sorts topped with holandaise sauce.

The number one reason we mini-mooned in Hayward was the giant musky at the Fresh Water Fishing Hall of Fame.

 Apparently there were many giant fish at the museum.

And really cool looking ones. I'd never seen so many taxidermy fish in my life. I probably won't ever again.

My grandpa used to call me brook trout.

 My grandpa never called me Panfish of the World.

Scott found something with his name on it too.

 And then Brooke pretended to relieve herself. Funny stuff.

 

The museum was mostly trophy fish, vintage lures, reels, and motors. We also had this place to ourselves. 

 Once she saw this guy, she decided I wasn't enough of man and she married the "primitive fisherman." Well, not really, but she did hold his hand.

 I wish I knew the guy in the bottom right. He just exudes fisherman cool.

The reason the museum is in Hayward is because Louie Spray caught many of the world's largest muskies in nearby waters. This whole room was dedicated to the king of musky fishing. He even divulged candid information about his marital life.

After reading about Spray, we headed to the big fish.

The fish is truly monstrous.

"I can see all of Hayward from here."

Yup, even the closed Hardee's and KFC. 

Of course we had to take the obligatory I'm in a giant fish shots.

 

There was this random "graveyard" off to the side. This particular one said, "A musky ate him up".

And there was a playground.

We spent more than I thought possible at the fishing museum. It was actually a fun place. 

There wasn't much more to see in Hayward so we headed to Brooke's favorite place: the small town thrift store.

We ended up getting a cherry pitter. I remember my aunt had one of these and I had been looking for one for awhile. 

After the brief stop at the thrift store Brooke and I didn't know what to do. I suggested we head north to Cable. I turned on to this national park road because it was a canoe landing. There was nothing to see there.

We dropped off our marriage license at the local post office. The city seemed pretty sleepy so I decided we'd head to Ashland and then drive along the shore to Duluth and Superior. We thought we might be able to meet with Blake for dinner.

The forests shape-shifted from deciduous to coniferous, from the thinned forests of lumber towns to the preserved woodlands of the Chequamegon National Forest.

Then we hit Ashland and thought to oursleves, "Why didn't we go up here in the first place?"

And as we meandered through the small towns that dot along the shore across from the Apostle Islands the same thought came back.

We made one stop to get out and stretch our legs. On the shores next to a reservation was a park with camping and historical information.

 

It was very chilly on the lake. 

 

We headed back on the road and had a snack of juice boxes and roasted pepitas. 

OK, I get pumpkins, apples, fireworks and wild rice. But where the heck are they getting lobster tails? Last time I checked (and I could be wrong) there were no lobsters in Lake Superior. 

Blake was too busy for us, you know with his dirty hippy protests and photographing of kings, so we went to our favorite restaurant in Duluth: Superior's Thirsty Pagan Brewing.

If you haven't been they have some great in-house brews and deep(ish) dish pizza. Brooke got the seasonal Hoptoberfest and I got the uber-drinkable White Cap Wheat.

As for the pizza, we ordered a Chicken Alfredo with such niceties as spinach, red pepper and broccoli. The crust splits the difference between a Chicago-style and a pan pizza from you know where. 

Brooke was very full.

Instead of taking tired old I-35 down to the cities we took Wisconsin's doppelganger along the scenic St. Croix. Along the route thousands of trees had been blown down by the strong winds of the past week. 

This casino along state hwy. 35 was untouched, but the forest to the right was partially leveled.  

Somewhere along the road trip our caterer, the stupendous Carlos Olivar, texted us about getting the chafers from our wedding back for an unforeseen booking he had. When we made it back to the cities we had to take them back to his home.

I spent most of the next day sorting the leftovers from the wedding into jars and tupperware.