One man’s wilderness (49 page)

This morning I watched a bull moose and a cow across the lake. The cow was above him. The bull climbed, and the cow acted afraid and tried to get by him down the mountain. Back and forth across the slope they trotted. The old boy worked like a cutting horse to block her every turn. Finally she broke through and headed down country. He had to be content to follow below. I lost them in the brush. Later on I heard a bawling repeated several times, and spotted a bull moose at the edge of the timber. Then a cow, another bull, and a second cow. Moose all over the place. The rutting season is at hand.

I cleaned up the sheep hunters’ camps at the lower end of the lake and the connecting stream. They, too, had moved in for a spell and left their stains on the land.

The red salmon run is over. I see no more finners along the shore. I saw some dead ones floating today and a good many other carcasses along the beaches. The sanitation department will have to get busy.

The caribou hindquarter, which had been hanging under the cache for over
five weeks, was hard and dry on the outside but moist and red inside. I cut some for the birds, and sliced off a steak for supper.

September 24th
. Clear, calm, and forty-five degrees. September never saw a finer morning.

Today I will store many things away, close up the remaining window and put the pole props under the purlin logs. I wish I was opening up instead of closing.

Amazing what a man accumulates! I rearranged my cache and now it is filled to bulging. I hope Babe is right, that few are brave enough to climb that high. I will store the big ladder in the timber and put the cache ladder in Spike’s cabin.

I saw the sunlight sparkle on the wet paddle blade for the last time as I rode the canoe down to its storage place in Spike’s cabin. All these preparations point toward winter, but the fine weather doesn’t believe it.

I would leave a few last-minute things.

Tomorrow I would be ready, just in case.

September 25th
. Clear, calm, and thirty-two degrees.

Just finished the breakfast dishes when I heard the plane. Babe drifted into the beach with a grin on his face.

“It’s the twenty-fifth,” he said. “I’ve been watching the weather. It won’t last. Figured I’d better come and get you while it was fair.”

There was no hurry, but Babe packed things to the plane while I put the covers over the windows, secured the stovepipe, and carried in a fresh supply of wood. The birds got many odds and ends from the kitchen and worked in desperation to pack it away in the timber.

Babe watched them. “They’re going to miss welfare,” he said.

Time to go. The birds were perched silently in the spruces. A last check on the woodshed. The weasel whisked into the woodpile, switched ends, and peered out at me. I could hear the squirrel singing from a cluster of spruce cones. At last he was getting rid of me.

I closed my door and turned the locking lever for the last time.

Full throttle down the calm lake and up on the step. One last look at the beautiful country I knew so well. The brave gleam of my cabin logs and cache. There was a lot of me down there. Sixteen months, but such days are a bonus that don’t count in your life span at all.

That night during a gathering at Babe’s place, I felt a civilized cold germ taking hold.

Epilogue

On Dick’s cabin table was left a message:

This cabin has been my home for the past sixteen months, and it is with regret that I leave it for a time. I think it would be safe to say that I have hiked thousands of miles in my total of two years at Twin Lakes. In the past sixteen months alone I have exposed more than 3,000 feet of 8mm movie film and many rolls of 35mm film on the wildlife and the scenery of the area, plus the building of my cabin, woodshed, and cache
.

In my travels I have picked up and disposed of much litter left by others. Many fail to show respect that the area deserves
.

You didn’t find a padlock on my door (maybe I should have put one on) for I feel that a cabin in the wilderness should be open to those who need shelter
.

My charge for the use of it is reasonable, I think, although some no doubt will be unable to afford what I ask, and that is—take care of it as if you had carved it out with hand tools as I did. If when you leave your conscience is clear, then you have paid the full amount
.

This is beautiful country. It is even more beautiful when the animals are left alive
.

Thank you for your cooperation
.

R.L. Proenneke

Afterword

Dick Proenneke celebrated the 30th anniversary of his cabin-building at Twin Lakes on May 30, 1998. Since the original publication of
One Man’s Wilderness
in the spring of 1973, he has been on the scene, except for several trips to the Lower 48. Currently in his eighties, he chooses not to stay the winters; chores once routine require more effort these days.

What has he been doing all this time? He has served as the ultimate guardian of the Twins. He has tried to make pristine again what others have soiled. Removing campsite blemishes and cleansing the littered beaches from his Eden have long been an obsession. During these rounds, his cameras have always been ready to shoot dramatic encounters—the nest of a fiercely aggressive goshawk, a wild-eyed, huge-racked caribou bull swimming to out-distance his paddle thrusts, the rescue of a bawling moose calf from a marauding bear. He has located bear dens and even crawled into them after they were vacant to find a surprisingly sweet odor instead of a stench. He has discovered wolf dens, usually near the water. He has explored glaciers and the surrounding crags, wearing out much footgear in countless miles over challenging terrain. He continues to thrill to the haunting choruses of wolves, especially beneath flickering veils of the northern lights.