Mudslide in Grand Marais MN

I was off the beaten path as I hugged the shore of Lake Superior towards Duluth. I had about 100 miles to my destination but I had been on the road for six hours and I needed a break. I needed a drink and when I saw a quaint inn next to a café, I knew I had found a place to stay overnight.

“I need a room for tonight only and I don’t have a reservation.”

“You’re in luck. I have a double bed room and breakfast is served in the morning, which is included in the rate.” The woman checked her watch and smiled. “It’s 5 and we have wine and cheese available in the lobby Mr. Wulfe.” She said as she ran my credit card.

“Thanks but I’m not big on the grape. Do you recommend the café that I saw on my drive in?”

“I sure do since I own the Foggy Bottom with my husband Mike. I take care of things here at the inn and the bar is all his. Tell my husband hello for me.”

“Will do Jackie.” I saw her name on the welcome letter she handed me with the key. I placed my bags in the room and walked next door to the Foggy Bottom.

The Foggy Bottom was an homage to Lake Superior and angling, with a tastefully done nautical theme. Maps and photographs of the lake and surrounding region hung on the walls. A few fish were mounted on the wall. The bar was one piece of wood cut from an enormous red cedar. I Slid onto a shiny stainless barstool and nearly went off the other side because it was so slick.

“You must be Mike.” I offered my hand. “Jackie says hello. I’m Cecil, a guest next door at the inn.”

“What can I do for you Cecil?” Mike tossed a coaster, embossed with an anchor, on the bar.

“I’ll have whatever the guy down the bar is having. He looks like a legit angler with that hat. He’s got an entire tackle box hanging on his hat.” I laughed.

“Yeah, Marlin is all about fishing.” Mike laughed.

“Marlin, is that really his name?”

“It is and I know this because he’s been a pal since kindergarten. He’s having a mudslide. The color reminds him of the river bottom, I suppose. Can I hook you up with one?”

“Sure, I’ll have what he’s having. Is he a friendly guy; I’m in the mood for a good fish tail.”

“God yes. Good luck shutting him up when he get’s going.”

Mike turned his back and got to work on my mudslide. He started with a chilled pint glass, featuring the logo anchor with a swirly F and B. He loaded it with ice, grabbed vodka from the well, and poured a couple of ounces. The bar owner rarely measured. Next came the coffee liqueur and Irish crème, which he poured, one in each hand. There wasn’t much room left when it came adding the whole milk. He briskly stirred the drink and turned to face me. “Whipped crème?”

“Yeah, might as well.” By now, I was sitting next to Marlin.

Mike pulled out a stainless steel cylinder, which dispensed a cloud of whipped cream. He added a small amount of shaved chocolate on top. For a final touch, he tossed a coffee bean into the pillow of cream. Mike was proud of his creation and I couldn’t wait to taste it.

“Mike tells me that you spend a lot of time on Lake Superior.” As I spoke, I sipped my drink, which tasted like an ice cream frappe. I could drink them for hours and I was happy to be staying next door because I didn’t have to drive. Marlin had a distinctive feature, in that he was missing his left index finger.

“Since I’ve been toddling about I’ve had a thing for the lake. It calls to me as a siren song and I answer it every day I can. It cures what ails me and never disappoints. I was married once and she left me but the Lake remains by my side. I’m a cancer survivor and I swear I wouldn’t have had strength for the battle if it weren’t for Lake Superior.” Marlin looked to Mike and raised his glass for another.

“Do you fish for anything in particular?” I asked.

“Walleye mostly because I love to eat it. I try to catch and Release or consume my catch. My neighbors are sick of me showing up with extra fish; they lock their doors when they see my cooler and me. I unintentionally hooked a sturgeon once. I fought the thing for 4 hours while I was out with my son. He was there to photograph the 8 foot beauty, which was the biggest ever recorded caught out of the Lake. It was a warm day in June…..”

As Marlin recounted his fish tale, I knew Mike wasn’t kidding when he said Marlin talked a lot when it came to fishing. As he chatted, I had my second mudslide and it sounded like he could continue for hours. I had a stroke of luck when Marlin had to wrap things up.

“I have to be somewhere Cecil. If you’re here tomorrow, I can finish the tale over another mudslide.”

“Next time I’m through perhaps. I’m only here one night so I’ll have to miss the end of your fish story.” I settled up with Mike as Marlin walked out.

“You probably thought he was making up the story. It’s true and you didn’t get to hear the best part, about him losing his finger.” Mike pointed up to a framed newspaper article. Local Man Catches Record Sturgeon. There was a photograph before the fish was released of Marlin with a bloodied bandage on his hand. “If I recall, he had four mudslides that night.”