Alone in the Wilderness Page #4

a patch of willow bushes,

the bull was free from the blood covered, velvet-like material.

It seems this time of year, the bulls lose all good sense

and come right out in the open.

Afraid of nobody, and that's when hunting season opens.

And that's the end of the hill.

I woke up this morning surprised to see four inches

of snow on the ground.

Looks like I finished my fireplace just in time.

It's a frosty morning at 23.

35 in my cooler box.

And the lake water at 42.

But the pressure is off.

The fireplace is built,

and what little there is yet to do

can be done regardless of the weather.

It's the end of September now, and if I was

gonna stay the winter I would need more meat.

Today was the last day of sheep season.

And the sight of four good rams in a bunch

convinced me.

Although this handsome bull makes it tempting,

lucky for him I like sheep meat better than caribou.

I open and close the hunting season with one shot.

The search for meat is over.

I hated to see the big ram end like this, but I suppose

he could have died a lot harder than he did.

The pelt must have weighed a hundred pounds

when I dragged it from the water.

Nearly all blood was soaked out of the beautiful white hide.

I put my smoker into operation, and I kept it going

all day.

Sheep liver and onions for supper.

A satisfying day.

September 23. Clear, calm and a frosty 20 degrees.

Hope Creek is beginning to ice up. I put the thermometer

into the creek mouth. 31 degrees.

If the creek stopped moving it would freeze up in no time.

Today I would cut up wood to build up my supplies.

This business of taking wood out of the savings bank and

putting none back has been bothering me to no end.

Plenty of meat hanging from the meat tree. Plenty of wood.

My cabin tight and warm.

I looked forward to freeze-up.

It is November now, and in preparing for freeze-up,

I made a sled out of spruce poles.

Using the spruce runners, I had put in traction.

The frame was held together with pegs,

and short pole bracings.

I plained the runner smooth and painted them

with a film of woodglue.

With its deck poles, handles and crossbars,

it would be a vehicle in which I could push

a good-sized load.

Too bad I didn't have a caribou to pull it.

Dead calm and zero degrees.

The wind and snow died during the night.

It's important that I keep my pathway to the lake open.

I chipped through three inches of ice to fill my water bucket.

In a short time I will have a safe highway for miles

in each direction.

Freeze-up has arrived.

It's warm inside my cabin. A toasty forty degrees.

Peppery ram stew for supper. Just the way I like it.

It's got everything in it but the kitchen sponge.

Dead calm and zero degrees.

The lake ice has increased one inch in 24 hours.

It took one hour to the gravel bank of

the connecting stream.

Not quite as fast as paddling.

I saw big wolf tracks in the drifted snow.

Then I saw many more wolf tracks.

A bad sign.

About a hundred yards further on,

a dead calf, on the bank.

They had not fed on the carcass at all.

I butchered it up into sections.

There was frozen blood on his hind legs.

Had they done it just for sport?

Suddenly the wolves lost a few points with me.

I loaded up the sled and headed for home.

I chopped off a chunk of moose hindquarter.

The meat shattered like ice.

The magpie soon took command.

But there would be plenty for all.

December 31. 32 degrees below zero during

the heat of the day.

Today I hiked a couple miles down the lake.

I do believe winter at Twin Lakes is better than summer.

I crossed a wolverine track that was headed

for Low Pass Creek.

I must be on the lookout for that character.

On such a trip, snowshoes are a must.

With no wind I could travel all day in -45F,

and be comfortable.

It is warmer on top of the pass than it is

along the lake.

Moisture must make the difference.

My face and fingers felt the bite and the cold

as soon as I reached lake level.

It was good to be back at the cabin.

January 2. 45 below zero. A land without motion.

In the dead of winter, nothing seems to move.

Not even a twig on the willows.

The thickness of the ice is now a strong 28 inches.

In this cold weather, the hole gradually closes in from the

sides, until it is a hole no longer.

January 9. What do you know?

Here comes Babe in the T-craft on skis!

He brought a burlap sack half full of beans,

50 pounds of sugar, and a big box of dried apples.

Also, some mail.

He also brought me two pairs of heavy socks

that his wife Mary had knitted for me.

It was just like Christmas.

February 21. Plus 26 degrees.

Snowing and blowing.

27 inches of snow on the ground.

My snowshovel works well. My paths are beginning to look like

small canyons with steep white walls.

I wish brother Jake could be up here to see this.

February is almost gone, and that didn't take long.

Snow depth still stays at 27 inches at my checking station.

It settles between snows.

On the way back to the cabin, I cut across

the wolverine track.

The one that's been eluding me for so long.

And then, there he was. The one with the

ferocious reputation.

He didn't look so ferocious to me.

It was very warm in the sun, but cool in the shadow

of the mountain as I snowshoed back to the cabin.

The end of march. The sun was warm and the eave dripped.

I do believe the days of snow and ice are numbered.

On one of my trips I had noticed a huge burrow

on a dead spruce tree.

Today I would go back and salvage it.

I slapped it with a four-inch cut next to the tree.

The cap would be about 7 inches deep, and

perhaps from that I'd carve a bowl.

Two slabs on the packboard, and in for lunch.

The slabs will make interesting table tops.

After lunch I dumped the two-pound coffee can of cranberries

I had picked, into a pan to cook them in their own juice.

A fistful of sugar was next, followed with a shot of

corn syrup.

When the mixture cooled, I poured it off into empty bottles.

Now those sourdough pancakes would have an elegant topping

in the morning.

April 22. It is good to see bears on the mountain again-

-a mother and two fine looking cubs.

Good company for a man out here.

Most people would think of bear den to be a smelly place.

On the contrary, I have found them to be clean and fresh.

As if the bear walked in, laid down, got up, and walked out.

With the receding snow, the caribou are starting

to show themselves again.

And I'm sure the wolves are not too far behind.

There are many ptarmigan in the willowflats.

The roosters are full of cackle, and they are

fast coming out of their winter plumage.

I have made it through my first winter at Twin Lakes.

With the arrival of spring, it feels good to get back to work

on the projects that have been on hold.

And the new cache will keep bears and other critters

out of my food supplies.

Dick Proenneke would spend the next 35 years alone

in the wilderness-

-carefully documenting life at Twin Lakes until 1998.

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