One man’s wilderness (19 page)

July 28th
. My camp robber friend appeared at breakfast and stole a snip of bacon right out of my plate as I sat in the doorway.

I must say I really like my window.

I took a charcoal stick and sketched the fireplace chimney on the logs, then cut a big piece of cardboard to the pitch of the roof and set it up on top. I was pleased with how a chimney would look, and the moss on the roof will improve the whole effect even more. Inside I tacked more cardboard under the log mantel and drew a fireplace on it.

I nailed the molding in tight around my window and plugged the cracks in the door with oakum. Then I chinked the toilet end of the woodshed and packed in some gravel from the beach to cover the floor.

Tomorrow I will make a latch for my Dutch door.

July 29th
. The wind rattled through the trees last night, and the lake was noisy. Clouds coming from the southeast this morning, a mile a minute.

Ready to construct my super door latch. I would use a wooden disc with a lug on one side to engage in the door casing, and a shaft squared to take the handles.

Now I needed a lock. Any old housedog of a bear could push the handle down and open the door. I augered a hole through the door, a third of its diameter, cutting a notch in the wooden disc. When the door handle was turned it engaged the disc and the door was locked. I would like to see a bear try to figure it out, but I suppose he would just solve the problem by wiping the door clean from the wooden hinges.

A wild lake all day. Whitecaps chasing each other.

July 30th
. Last evening I went blueberrying on the Cowgill benches. I found a good patch, and when the can was nearly full, I noticed a movement across the creek. Something yellow and brown—a big bear and not 200 yards away. While watching him, I instinctively turned around to see if maybe something was watching me.

He was picking berries and really giving a demonstration, his big head swinging this way and that and bobbing up and down at the same time. Leaves and berries were being stripped off with that long tongue. I finished filling my can, then eased over to the edge of the creek bank and sat down for a closer look. A breeze coming from him to me and the noise of the creek made the seat
perfect. I watched him eat his way into a grove of cottonwoods on the steep side of the canyon. It was after ten o’clock when I dropped down off the bench and walked through the spruce timber with bears on my mind.

A tin bending day. Made a water bucket, a wash pan, a dishpan, a flour pan, and storage cans. My cabin kitchen is shaping up.

July 31st
. The last day of July and I don’t believe I saw new snow during the entire month.

Today would be the day to set up the stove and do some more tin bending. I dug the stove out of a corner of Spike’s cabin. When I saw the old relic in good light, I almost chickened out of the project. It was the sorriest looking stove I ever saw. A half-inch gap along the sides under the top, one door hinge unstuck. I packed it down through the brush and put it on my stove stand. Then I put up my new stovepipe and made ready to touch it off.

First I packed a bucket of small rocks to put under the grate, then gravel to fill the grate. It would take a long time to get ashes enough to hold a fire. I stuffed in some shavings and some chips and struck a match. The flames grew out along the sides under the top and I thought, “This will never do”. And then the smoke found the smoke stack and my troubles were over. In spite of its looks it did a fine job heating water. I was pleasantly surprised. Now to make it look professional I would need a Chinese hat for the top of the chimney pipe, so I got busy with tools and tin and had one on in short order.

Found a way to get paper and stickum off a gas can. Boil it in hot soapy water. The label is on to stay, but it can’t stand that treatment.

I needed a big wooden spoon to dip hotcake batter onto the griddle. One spoonful, one hotcake. In the woodpile I found scraps of stump wood that looked suitable. It took no more than an hour to turn out a good-looking spoon. I must make a wooden bowl or two later on.

Cool breeze and the insects are no problem today.

Tomorrow is the big day. I will load all my remaining gear into the canoe and paddle down to my new home. A calm sea will help for this voyage.

August 1st
. The lake dead calm. A perfect moving day. A camp robber, visiting me for breakfast, came inside. I wonder what his range is? Will he find me at the new cabin?

I worked clockwise around Spike’s cabin, set out everything that I wanted to go, and packed it down to the beach. Then I cleaned up the cabin that had been home, scrubbed the counter, the shelf, and the woodwork of the stove stand. I glanced at Spike’s sign and was satisfied I had complied. Everything in order and better than I found it.

I loaded the canoe and paddled down to my new quarters. Everything found its place and there was lots of room for everything, not a cluttered look at all. Some items to make, such as a knife holder to fasten on the wall.

Suddenly it happened, the worst accident of my cabin building career. The piece of wood I was working turned, and I raked my thumb with the newly sharpened ripsaw. Blood ran all over the place. I hurried down and stuck my thumb into the cold lake, watched the water turn from green to red, then doped up the gash, wrapped a rag around it, anchored it with a piece of tape, and went back to work.

Burned my sourdoughs a bit on the bottom, but they were good anyway. It will take a few trial runs to get used to my antique range.

First night on my new bunk. Five inches of foam rubber will make it just about right. I can hear Hope Creek real plain. That will be a pleasant sound to go to sleep by.

The lake water is good, but now I pack it from Hope Creek and I think there is none better that I have ever tasted. I like to think of the high places it comes from.

I lit the Coleman lantern this evening. A bright, friendly glow in the wilderness, the warmth of home.

August 2nd
. Best sleep in a long time. The sound of the waves lapping the gravel beach and the never-ending rustle of Hope Creek until freeze-up. No better sleeping pill.

The stove did a fine job on the hotcakes this morning and my wooden spoon is just right. Perfect-sized cakes every time.

I must have a stool outside to set things on when opening the door. A ten-inch slice from a twelve-inch-diameter log, and legs augered into one side. Gave the legs a flare so the stool won’t tip when I step on it. Why not a couple more thin slices from the log, and plane them smooth? Now I had place mats and hot pads to save my plastic tablecloth.

That Babe! He landed and had things unloaded at Spike’s cabin before I could get to him. We put the gear back into the plane and taxied down to my beach.

He’d brought the polyethylene at last, more than enough, and plenty of grub. Also a package from my sister, Florence.

I watched Babe’s eyes move with approval over the cabin walls. “A nice place,” he said. “A real nice place.”

“Like heaven,” I said.

He just looked at me and slowly wagged his head.

I waved to him as he took off down country into the rainy fog, heading home.

Good news. Spike and Hope want me to take the stove from their cabin. They will bring in another one sometime. In nothing flat I paddled down to get it. I took out some of the ashes before hauling it down, then out went that sorry-looking other monster, rocks, gravel, and all. Some spikes into the top of my stove stand and the old reliable was soon in place. I scratched a match. She took off like a gut-shot cat. A welcome sound, as welcome as having one’s wife return to full duty after an operation (I imagine).

The biscuits puffed up just right and baked to a turn. All is going well. Tomorrow I can work full time on the roof.