Todd Swank: Trekking the 9 Mile Creek Trail Boardwalk

Trekking the 9 Mile Creek Trail Boardwalk

Todd Swank's Diary Update for April 13, 2025

We’ve been following our beloved Timberwolves all season, and somehow—despite the occasional fourth-quarter meltdown and our franchise history screaming “not again”—they’re heading into the playoffs with actual expectations. Anthony Edwards looks like he was built in a lab to shut people up, and Rudy Gobert is still dominating. I took this photo a couple weeks ago. With one game left, we’re either locking in a solid seed or free-falling into the play-in tournament, where Minnesota sports dreams traditionally go to die. But hey, this year feels different. Which is exactly what I say every year, right before crying into my Wolves sweatshirt.

We stopped by to visit Grandma Linda on Tuesday night. She’s been dealing with some medical stuff lately and has a new procedure lined up next month, so yeah—it’s a little stressful seeing someone you love having to battle through that. But true to form, she still has her spark, her sass, and that warm presence that somehow makes everyone else feel okay, even when she’s the one going through it. She keeps pushing forward like the tough little fighter she is. If you’ve got a moment, please send some prayers or good vibes her way. She's earned 'em.

Wednesday night I met up with my Oracle colleague Steve Domingo for dinner at Crave in the Mall of America. Steve’s from Atlanta and had never seen the MOA before, so walking him through a four-story mall with a full-blown amusement park in the middle was like giving someone the deluxe tour of capitalism. We had some great sushi, shared a few laughs, and talked shop just enough to justify it as a work dinner. Always fun showing off a Minnesota landmark that isn’t covered in ice or shaped like a fish.

Thursday night we got together with the kids for dinner at Northern Taphouse in Lakeville—one of our favorite ways to spend an evening. We’d met up earlier for tuxedo fittings for Avery and Abby’s wedding, which is definitely sneaking up on us. Great food, even better company, and no one was pretending they’re too busy to answer group texts. And yes—the wings delivered.

Trekking the 9 Mile Creek Trail boardwalk might sound intense, but don’t let the name fool you—we clocked in at a proud 1.5 miles, and I felt every glorious step. This was our official return to semi-active living, and Blue was thrilled to be back on patrol, sniffing everything like the trail owed him money. The ice is finally gone, the mud’s only ankle-deep, and for a brief moment, it actually felt like spring in Minnesota. Until it doesn’t again. But hey—moment seized.

Back during COVID, we got into the habit of exploring trails around the Twin Cities—our version of adventure when the world shut down. It turned out to be one of the few bright spots from that whole bizarre stretch of life, and we’ve been meaning to get back into it now that spring is sort of showing up again. The boardwalks are my favorite part—gliding over the marsh like seasoned hikers while safely protected from Minnesota’s deadliest wildlife: frogs and turtles.

One of our favorite parts of hiking is bird watching—we're always on the lookout for something rare or unexpected. So imagine our shock when we spotted the incredibly elusive mallard... again. Peeking out from his not-at-all-hidden hideout like he’s part of some secret duck surveillance program. Majestic, common, and somehow always acting like we’re the ones intruding.

A little farther down the trail, we spotted another duck—this one standing proudly on what I think was a muskrat lodge. I’m no wildlife biologist, but I’m pretty sure ducks and muskrats have a symbiotic relationship: the duck stands guard while the muskrat sleeps, and in return, the muskrat agrees not to comment on how often the duck poops on his roof.

On the way home, we made a quick detour to check out Bird Island—one of our favorite boat spots during the summer. It was absolutely packed, and not in the “spring break vacation” kind of way… more like a feathery Tinder convention. The birds were clearly gearing up for the next generation, doing whatever awkward courtship rituals are required to keep the circle of life awkwardly flapping forward. Nature’s beautiful, chaotic, and apparently very much in the mood.

It’s always an impressive lineup—egrets, cormorants, and blue herons all packed into the same scraggly island like some weird bird version of a condo association. We always wonder how they pick their nests. Do they get the same one as last year? Do some get annoyed that their spot faces the inside trees while others scored waterfront views? And you have to wonder—do they cluster by species out of preference, or is Bird Island quietly hosting nature’s most passive-aggressive segregation policy? Either way, it’s clear not every bird is thrilled with their neighbor.