One man’s wilderness (12 page)

It started to rain hard. While I waited the shower out, I honed my cutting tools to real fine edges.

I checked the garden. The peas are grabbing hold of the brush supports I stuck along the row the other day.

July 3rd
. A cool, damp morning with fog coming off the slope like the smoke from many campfires.

I finished my hinges. All they need now is the holes augered for the pins. I can do that another time. No wind now, so it is perfect for the tarpaper job.

I lapped the tarred felt paper four to five inches. I need just one more strip twenty feet long. There’s another roll in Spike’s cabin. I must admit the cabin looks better already with the start of a roof.

Tomorrow is the Fourth. I should take a trip, but Babe might pick the holiday to fly in. I had better stick close to camp.

July 4th
. A big stack of sourdoughs this morning. Hope Babe does come. I’m about out of bacon and eggs, but I can do without.

I got a twelve-inch arctic char on the trotline. It will be the main attraction for lunch. A char, with a more satiny sheen than a lake trout, is a cousin of the brook trout.

I finished the tar-paper job on the roof first thing. If I only had the polyethylene, I could have it all ready for the moss chunks cut from the forest floor.

I worked some more on the hinges, augered the holes to take the seven-eighth-inch hinge pins of spruce. I am anxious to see how the door will look and operate with this forest hardware.

No sign of Babe. Best to keep busy. I need a woodshed so I sketched a plan of it. Twelve feet by eight feet with the toilet on one end. I would build it on the order of a log shelter, open in front, a gable with only a narrow roof over the open front to keep rain and snow from blowing in. I could set my sawbuck under the overhang.

Cleared brush for the woodshed project. I would have to cut some logs, maybe twelve or so.

Whitecaps raced along beside me as I paddled back to supper. No lives lost at Twin Lakes this holiday. I wonder how many died in the south 48?

July 5th
. Clear and cold. My first thought was the spuds. There was frost on the leaves. I was sure they would turn black as soon as the sun warmed them.

No plane and no roof covering. Might as well start on the woodshed and toilet. I was surprised to find ice just under the moss. Moss is certainly a wonderful insulation.

I cut, hauled, and peeled eleven logs by noon. The sound of a plane interrupted me. It was the boss hunter coming up the lake. Was he bringing a party in this early, or was it just supplies to store and make a few repairs?

The mosquitoes gave me a bad time after lunch as I worked on the shed. Tomorrow I will use the headnet. It is really the best protection and not too bad to wear after an hour or so.

My potato leaves have just a touch of brown.

July 6th
. Where are the grayling at the mouth of Hope Creek? Not a strike this morning.

Back to the woodshed project. Hewing and notching logs most of the day. I am now six logs high. I wore the headnet and had less trouble with the insects except for one getting inside now and then and wanting out, and bouncing around in front of my eyes until I had to mash it. I wore two shirts, one with no sleeves, like a vest. Even so, when I bent over, the mosquitoes would work on my back with their sharp needles. Come September I will be rid of them.

No Babe yet. He must be busy.

July 7th
. An odds-and-ends day.

I put out a good-sized laundry to flutter and snap in a warm wind. Did some mending. Wrote letters and tossed them into the pile ready to go out on Babe’s express. Then a visit to the Twin Lakes’ barbershop. That little Penn’s Easy Trim is the best investment I have made for a long time.

I went to my empty gas-can supply and spent the afternoon tin bending. I turned out a dishpan, a wash pan, eating pans, and a shelf to put above my bunk for toilet articles.

I started to read a book that Babe had brought last time. Strange how the Bible has predicted so many things that have come to pass. And now the end is near, it says. I hope I have time to finish my cabin.

July 8th
. Awoke at three. I could hear rain on the sod roof, and the sky faucets really have to be wide open to do that.

Blue sky by five o’clock. The weather changes like a man’s fortunes.

I would build my woodshed four feet high in back, slope the roof to an overall seven feet, then down to six feet on the short side. I found the timber I needed, dropped it, limbed it, packed it in, and peeled it. All set for material now except for roof poles.

Caught a grayling and a lake trout in the fast water rushing into the lake from Hope Creek. I didn’t give them much time to carry on. The belly dictates how sporting a man is going to be.

July 9th
. On the job at six. Made good progress on the gable logs, and finally set the ridge log into place. Trimmed the gables smooth from the ridge log to the eave log.

Need about thirty roof poles.

I paddled across the still lake and followed the shoreline down beyond Glacier Creek. As I glided along, I studied the cottonwood and willow belt just above the spruce timber and saw a bull moose looming black and huge out of the willow scrub. He was big and distinctive, one to watch for again.

When I beached the canoe and prowled along the bed of Glacier Creek, I found two of the whitest and roundest boulders I have ever seen.

They weighed between thirty and forty pounds each. There were others, some smaller and some bigger, but these two were mates and more perfect than all the rest. I had just the place for them. I packed them back to the canoe, loaded them gently into the bow, and paddled home. They set off the lakeshore
entrance of my gravel path just right, one on either side of it. I will call them “The Grizzly Eggs.”

July 10th
. I had the woodshed logs gathered on the beach when I heard the plane. Babe at last! I left the poles high and dry and started the long paddle to the cabin. I met Babe walking down the beach. As usual he was in a hurry. I hoped I hadn’t held him up.