Exploring Minnesota's Superior North Shore
Todd Swank's Diary Entry for February 9, 2025
Monday night, we put on our finest hairnets and went full assembly-line mode at Feed My Starving Children, scooping rice and sealing bags like we were prepping for the apocalypse. The goal? Pack meals for kids who actually need them. It’s a simple process: show up, measure stuff, try not to spill, and pretend you’re a professional humanitarian for 2 hours. By the end, we had boxed up enough food to make a real difference, and more importantly, we learned that nothing humbles you faster than getting absolutely outclassed at scooping soy by a high school girl who wasn’t even trying.
For two hours, we scooped food into bags like we were factory workers with zero breaks. Just when we thought we were done, some volunteer would swoop in and refill the bins like a sadistic game of Whac-A-Mole. By the end, my arm felt like I had spent the night arm-wrestling a grizzly bear, but the soreness came with a side of pride. Turns out, the group we were with packed over 115,000 meals during our session. So yeah, I basically have the body of an old man and the work ethic of a humanitarian—just don’t ask me to lift anything today.
Wednesday night, I flew down to Kansas City to host a dinner for one of my customers, because nothing says “let’s talk AI and cloud infrastructure” like a perfectly cooked steak. We were in town for the Oracle Data and AI event the next day, but first, we tackled the real challenge—figuring out how many seafood towers it takes to impress a room full of tech pros. The conversation was incredible, covering everything from AI strategy to data platforms, and by the end of the night, we walked away with fresh ideas, solid connections, and the undeniable fact that 801 Chophouse knows how to fuel a high-performance discussion.
My hotel was across the street from Union Station, so I wandered over Thursday night for dinner and found the place decked out in full Chiefs glory, hyping up their impending dynasty with a massive "3-PEAT LOADING..." sign. Fast forward a few days, and after watching them get dismantled 40-22 in the Super Bowl, I have to wonder—did they slowly dim the lights on this thing out of respect, or did some poor worker have to rip it down at 3 a.m. while pretending not to cry?
Friday, we drove a few hours north to Two Harbors, Minnesota, because nothing says “great idea” like venturing into the frozen wilderness in February. It was cold, it was snowy, but it was beautiful—at least that’s what we kept telling ourselves as we lost feeling in our faces. We were excited for a weekend of good times with friends and some good old-fashioned critter hunting in the icy woods, because apparently, frostbite and tracking animals that are way better at surviving winter than us sounded like a solid plan.
Driving along Minnesota's North Shore, I always marvel at how they carved roads out of solid rock. Take the Silver Creek Cliff Tunnel, for instance—completed in 1994 after three years of blasting through 1,344 feet of cliff to replace a road that basically dared Lake Superior to swallow you whole.
We stopped at Castle Danger Brewery, parked the car, and were on our way to the bar when we spotted a group of photographers standing in the snow with lenses so massive they could probably see into next week. Curiosity got the best of us, so we wandered over to see what had them locked in with the intensity of snipers. Whatever it was, it had to be something special—because if you’re willing to stand in the freezing cold for hours, either you’re witnessing something incredible or you’ve just made a series of very questionable life choices.
Turns out, it was a great gray owl—a bird so rare in these parts that even Bigfoot would ask for its autograph. Apparently, there's an irruption happening, which is a fancy way of saying these owls' dinner plans up north fell through, so they're crashing our backyard buffets. We snapped a few pictures to prove we were there and then headed into the bar, because as majestic as nature is, it doesn't serve beer.
When we came back outside 45 minutes later, the photographers had all turned their cameras in a new direction, so we wandered over to see what was up. Turns out, the owl had left the tree and landed right on one of their cameras. Pretty cool—unless you’re the guy who owns that camera. Now he’s just standing there, watching his expensive gear become an owl’s personal perch, probably debating whether retrieving it is worth being shunned by the entire birdwatching community. For all we know, he’s still there, nodding along as the others whisper, "Just let it happen, Steve."
We stayed at a nice resort with the Browns and Zitzewitzes, playing games, enjoying great meals, and laughing way too much. On Saturday, we headed to Gooseberry Falls State Park for a hike, which sounded fun until I remembered that everyone in this group is way more fit than me. While they were bounding through the snow like a North Face commercial, I was just hoping to make it back without needing a rescue sled.
As we approached the falls, I could see some water trickling under the ice, but mostly, it looked like a frozen wasteland with people scaling it like they were training for Everest. We watched the ice climbers for a bit before moving on, and at some point, I finally asked, “So when do we get to the falls?” The group casually informed me that this was the falls. In the summer, it’s a powerful, rushing cascade—right now, it’s more of a scenic reminder that nature takes the winters off too.
We went back to the townhouse for lunch, and when the group decided to head out for another hike, I made the executive decision to sit this one out rather than pretend I could keep up with their Olympic-level endurance. Fortunately, Miss Sheri took pity on me, and instead of racing through the snow, we hopped in the car for a leisurely photo tour—because why struggle up a hill when you can drive around and let the critters come to you?
Our critter hunt came up empty, but we did stumble upon a scenic overlook we’d never been to before, offering a perfect view of Split Rock Lighthouse—one of the most photographed lighthouses in Minnesota. Which makes sense, because when you stick a lighthouse on a cliff with a backdrop like that, it’s less of a landmark and more of a full-time Instagram model.