Alone in the Wilderness Page #3

Not perfect, but plenty close for rural work.

I must devise a latch for it.

Not just hooks like a barn door.

All I needed was a lock.

I'd like to see a bear try and figure this thing out.

But I suppose he would just solve the problem

by wiping the door clean from the wooden hinges.

After finishing the latch, I went blueberring up on

the Cowgill Bench.

I found a good patch.

I fear the blueberries really took a nipping from the

heavy frost not so long ago.

I found some berries big and healthy.

But many are small and shriveled.

When my can was nearly full I noticed a movement

across the creek.

Something yellow and brown.

A big bear, not fifty yards away!

I think I have picked the wrong blueberry patch.

Lucky for me, and him, he didn't like my smell.

July 31. A tin-bending day.

Made a water bucket. A wash pan. A dish pan.

A flower pan, and storage cans.

My cabin kitchen is shaping up.

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 me no more than an hour

to turn out a good looking spoon.

I must make a wooden bowl too later on.

Today is the big day. I will load all of my remaining gear into

the canoe, and paddle down to my new home.

The lake is dead calm. A perfect day for moving.

Everything found its place, and there was lots of room

for everything. Not a cluttered look at all.

Five inches of foam rubber on my new bunk

will make it just about right.

I can hear Hope Creek real plain. That will be

a pleasant sound to go to sleep by.

And the view from my window isn't too bad, either.

Best sleep in a long time. The sound of the waves

lapping the gravel beach--

--and the never ending rustle of Hope Creek.

No better sleeping pill!

The woodpile needs attention.

I must drop a few spruce nags

and buck them into the sections.

Dry standing timber makes the best firewood.

There is a rhythm to the saw as its teeth eat back

and forth into the deepening cut.

But I must admit, I enjoy the splitting more.

I heard a plane. It was Babe at last with supplies.

He had brought in some fresh groceries

that needed refrigeration.

I had dug down a foot into the moss just yesterday,

and found frost, and lined the hole with a gas-can box.

The thermometer in the cooler box under the moss reads 40,

and here it is close to 80 today.

While cultivating the garden, I rolled out a few potatoes

that looked like walnuts.

Not record breakers for size, but they had real smooth skins!

The crops to grow at Twin Lakes are potatoes, rhubarb, lettuce,

onions and radishes.My green onions looked pretty respectable.

I am getting hungry for a fish.

After many casts at the mouth of Hope Creek,

I was onto one.

I worked him in easy, for I was fish hungry

and didn't want to lose this lake trout.

I could see him browning in the pan as I dressed him out,

and I left his entrails for the birds.

Fried potatoes, onions and fish. You can't beat that!

Time to take a break away from the cabin.

I would go up high today.

There were many sheep and ram

scattered here and there

I spotted six big rams on Black Mountain.

Two had better than a full curl.

A man could lose himself up here.

One bad step and I would keep on going right down the mountain.

But risk now and then is good for a man.

One mis-step here, and a man would have to settle

with the Lord, right here on the mountain.

Close at hand, the mosses and grasses

were full of tiny flowers.

It is another world of beauty.

The more I see as I sit here among the rocks,

the more I wonder about what I am not seeing.

A flickering movement to my left. The stone seemed to move,

and turned into a mother ptarmigan and a brood.

The young was just as camouflaged as the mother.

They were feeding. Huddled like chickens as they

walked along the slope.

Not too far away I spotted a mother brown bear with two cubs.

It was probably the same family I had seen at different

times during the spring.

She was rounded out like a cask.

Must be lots of vitamins along those slopes.

It was getting late and a little chilly,

and it was time to leave.

I had taken a long look into the heart of the high places.

It's September 6. This would be the morning

to start the fireplace.

I had been packing flat stones from the bed of Hope Creek

for the past few days.

The sound of geese heading north made me even more anxious

to get the project underway.

The lake was moon-still. A good morning to haul some sand.

Four loads of sand.

I won't cut the hole on the back of the cabin too high

until I find out how this rock laying is gonna go.

Today is spent on the outside. The chimney is a good 12" high

and 9" thick.

I hated cutting into those logs I had fit with such care,

but it had to be done.

It's September 8. I roughed out my arch today with my ax,

and then finished it off with the jack-plane.

I set it in place and spiked it to the post.

All my stones in front of the the fireplace have been collected

in my travels up and down both lakes,

the high country and the low.

So they are representative of the entire area.

Today, while it was still frosty, I cut a notch

in the rear overhang of the roof to let the chimney through.

My collapsable form couldn't have worked better.

I'm glad I took the time to make it.

By tomorrow evening I had better be done,

since the last cement sack will be empty.

After two weeks, with fingertips worn thin and tender,

I am ready for the cold weather.

This new day is clear, calm and 28 degrees.

There is white frost on the brush,

and on the gravel of the beach.

The lake is like a huge puddle, grinning with the reflections

of the fall colors well along on the mountains.

Today was meant for canoe travel.

I would go to the lower end of the lower lake-

where the Chilikadrotna River begins its long swift journey

to merge with the Molchotna and Chuchigak.

It would be a paddle of 8.5 miles, one way.

It was a joy to travel the flat lake.

I dug the paddle deep and the canoe slid along easily,

throwing ripples to either side.

Near the lower end of the lake, I spotted a fine caribou bull.

He was acting strangely. When I saw him wade into the lake,

it dawned on me. He wanted to cross to the other side!

The race was on. He would show me how fast

a bull caribou could swim!

I didn't wanna get to close in case he'd turn on me.

He could overturn my canoe with no trouble.

Maybe he figured he couldn't get rid of me on land,

so he did what he would have done with a wolf in pursuit.

Take to the lake, swim, and lose the enemy!

The caribou is an animal of the open country.

It seems like he likes to get up on the high ridges,

where the breeze blows to keep the insects away.

The bull moose, which I haven't seen much of

all summer long,

doesn't seem to fear me, or much of anything, now.

After several hours of thrashing and destroying

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