Part 2 of the Raquette River Saga

 2 years ago I (Teddy) wrote the first installment of a true story of survival. A whirlwind 48 hour trip that stretched from deep in the Adirondack wilderness and ended up in Manhattan. Part 2 was long overdue, so my fellow adventurer Keith stepped up to the tiller and expertly guides us through the next stage from his perspective. I have to admit, everything he says is 100% accurate...

PART 2 

By Keith Textor

I woke early, before dawn with a strange sensation. Next to me was a damp, dead log, snuggled right next to my sleeping bag. My compatriot, Mr. Chase, had obviously put it there to prevent any possible contact between him and me in the night. Surely this level of homophobia is a diagnosable mental disorder, but at the moment, I had no intentions of chastising him for it. 

It was necessary to have a partner with a certain level of mental illness, lest the adventure before us may have never come to fruition. Moreover, he was just waking; no doubt about to gather more firewood, and maybe even start breakfast. Right then I needed to keep my eyes closed and continue the facade that I was sleeping, or I was likely to end up also gathering wood and starting breakfast. 

A little extra rest would do me well this morning. The day before had been exhausting, and if only there were a more potent adjective to describe it. My arms had raced the sun across Long Lake, paddling with high intensity and speed northward to the island where I slept next to my new wooden friend. It was a fierce thunder storm the day and night before, and by the time our canoe made berth, we were soaked well into the dermas.

The lightning fueled my adrenaline, but not in the way I was looking for. Naturally, Mr. Chase, valuing his life, started to make hinting comments and statements about porting out of the water until the danger subsided, so I did the only thing I could to keep our vessel moving forward; I insulted his masculinity. I knew him well by this point. He was the type of man that would rather sleep next to a wet and rotting log than possibly be accused of sleeping next to another man. 

"Quit being such a sissy girl and keep moving forward!" I shouted behind me over the sound of the thunder rolling through the mountains. It was effective in keeping our purpose. We had a schedule to keep, ten miles to paddle, and limited light. 

Of course, the thought crossed my mind that we were in a large body of water, sitting in an aluminum canoe, drenched beyond recognition, and a close lightning strike would stop our hearts and boil our blood to two- hundred degrees. My mind wandered to the thought of my loved ones, crying over my closed casket a mere few days from then. But I felt no fear. I was annoyed, more than anything. Dying in the thunderstorm would ruin the true adventure. 

Despite the log in my side, I was warm and dry. I was enjoying the feeling in a way I never had before. The day and night before made me feel as though I had been cold and wet all of my life. Mr. Chase's oil cloth was remarkable. My clothes and blankets had stayed dry through the storm, and it now resided over my head and kept me dry all night.

I was impressed with Mr. Chase, but couldn't bring myself to tell him. Surely there would be a mutiny against my leadership if I were you compliment him, and perhaps the adventure would end because of things like thunderstorms. Nevertheless, I was impressed. 

The night before we had gathered firewood from a somewhat scarce area, while quickly running out of light. Nothing was dry. The rain had soaked every inch of everything we might try to burn. I did, however, bring some dry newspaper. Soon, Mr. Chase had a nice, popping fire going from wet tinder. The man had a talent for the wilderness. This is why he was chosen. 

As I lay resting, I soon heard the sound of the fire popping once again. As I started to get hungry I considered getting up. Suddenly Mr. Chase decided it was time. "A bald eagle!" I heard him say, and for the first time, cracked my eyes open a little.

I never saw the alleged eagle. I was told that he flew away before I got up. I adopted two working theories immediately: The first was that Mr. Chase was a delusional lunatic. This was a theory I had already previously drawn some data from, but until now he hadn't been "seeing things." So the second working theory is that the eagle had indeed appeared, and was an omen. 

A bald eagle in the morning could only mean something spectacular was about to happen. A bald eagle represented freedom, pride, power,  and arrogance. The king of the sky had paid us a visit this morning, and surely things would only get better from here on in. 

"Breakfast!" was the next word out of my mouth. I found it best to make my points with one word whenever possible with Mr. Chase. If I had asked, "What's for breakfast," it would have given the impression that there was something I didn't know; an impression my narcissism would not allow. If I had simply told him to make breakfast, it would leave room for rebellion. He might have the instinct to answer me in the negative. One word is all that it takes to push him into action without thinking.

He began to remove food from the cooler and mess to prepare it. Soon there were hot eggs and turkey bacon ready for my salivating lips. I chose to help with breakfast, not out of kindness, though. I just know how I prefer my eggs and bacon and the supplies were too limited to send the first batch back. 

I remember that as I ate I felt this was the very best moment of my life. I was dry, which was my new favorite thing to be. (After I realized the day before how I had taken this state for granted in my life.) I was satisfied with hot food. I was camping in the wilderness with no responsibility on my mind. I was about to embark on something truly special.

After breakfast, it was still early, only 5:30, or so. It was mid summer, and the sun was up early, and both Mr. Chase and I knew that the midday heat would be upon us sooner rather than later. We packed our goods and set out for the river. 

It was steady and quiet. The deep and wide lake soon became the calm and winding river. I paddled forward at a much calmer pace than the day before. Mr. Chase paddled his rudder back and forth as we wound through the sharp bends of the river. It was a flat calm. It was nearly impossible to tell which way the current ran. Back and forth, right and then left again, we turned through the river. The conversation was pleasant, but not memorable. However, Mr. Chase made mention again about how we ought not enter the rapids; a suggestion I had no intention of entertaining. 

The rapids are why I came. I could already feel my heart pumping faster with every stroke toward them. I was finally going to get the rush I had been thirsting for. We kept moving forward until, at last, we saw it.

On the side of the calm river bank stood a sign. It read, "DANGEROUS RAPIDS AHEAD. PREPARE TO PORTAGE." Now my heartbeat really picked up speed. Because there was a sign, I had now crossed into what was, not only reckless, but also defiant. No sign would tell me how to captain my own vessel. I only felt encouraged by the warning. 

I looked behind me long enough to see the uneasiness on Mr. Chase's face, but reassured him with the confidence on mine. He knew we were beyond the point of reasoning or bargaining. We were going down these rapids. No warning sign could possibly deter that fact. We paddled beyond the sign on more calm and deep water. 

As we plunged ahead, it became apparent that another sign was coming into view. It said the same thing as the last, in case the last one was missed or ignored, it seemed necessary to warn the travelers again. Once again, we kept paddling. Once again, my resolve strengthened. 

At last the river bed straightened and the speed began to quicken. It was still quite deep and not difficult to control. Quickly we reached the final sign, and it was accompanied by the noise of the river. The sign instructed to portage, and although we wouldn't be carrying our canoe, it was necessary to stop for a bit at the portage point. 

The relaxation of this venture had ended. Each of us prepared ourselves to get wet. I stripped down to my swimming trunks (it was quite warm now) and began to fasten the cargo with ropes. All of it was tied in the oil cloth as it had been before, and affixed in the center of the canoe. Life jackets were put on. Rope was used to tie our own selves to the canoe, should one of us be thrown out. We were as ready as we could be. Each of us inhaled a long breath, just as if we might be holding it the whole time through the rapids. The time had come. We pushed off the shore and started toward the noise. 

The first rocks came into view among the white race. I called orders from the front, and my rudder steered as hard and best as he could. We made it past the first rocks and then past some more. There was not a moment to be silent though. "Hard left! To the right! Slow us down! Push through!" I shouted over the sound of the water crashing ever the sides of the canoe and fury of the river. 

We were doing well. We sped past one obstacle and then another, narrowly escaping what could have meant our deaths. It was hard not to grin. Fear was a forgotten taste that needed to be refreshed on my tongue. I finally started to feel the sensation as the rocks narrowed ahead. "Pull us hard left!" As hard as we paddled, the river was stronger. She was the eagle. I had presumed to think that I must be the one with such pride and power, but instead, I met a force of nature that I couldn't best. SLAM! Our first collision had happened and at once I understood the omen. We were mere prey to a merciless predator. 

Eagerly we moved to loose ourselves from the rock, and once we did, we were headed down the next rush of power. CRASH! Into another rock we collided, and no amount of steering or paddling could have prevented it. Pushing off from that rock, we found ourselves in another path which the river chose for us. The tail started to come around until I could see Mr. Chase beside me rather than behind. "HARD LEFT!" I shouted in desperation, but to no avail. 

It was what I would call a "slam dunk." We had struck the rock on our port side, sideways and began to take on water. It rushed in, several hundred or even thousands of pounds of force on the thin aluminum canoe. We tried to loose ourselves, but the river quickly won by knockout. We were stuck. We were in the middle of the rushing river. And we were going to die here.

This was the adrenaline I had been waiting for. I had, until this point, existed for 18 years. This day was the day I started to live. I thought a hundred thoughts in a matter of seconds. I thought about the extraordinary nature of the story that would be told. All at once it occurred to me that there would be no story other than the forty- five second news blurb on the local television station if both of us died. Someone needed to live to tell this. 

In a split- second decision, I chose Mr. Chase. I would simply die saving his life, and this would be my eternal legacy. It was perfect. 

I shouted to him that I was going to shore, and without further hesitation, jumped out of the canoe. I was caught by my rope and floated by my life-jacket, but the challenge remained to cross the river. Through the deep, rushing water, I made my way from rock to rock,  until finally it shallowed, I gained my bearings, and walked out. The rope that was tied to me I quickly tied to a tree. Now the canoe was affixed from going downstream. (Not that it could've loosed itself to do so."

I looked to the canoe and suddenly realised my error. I was safely ashore and Mr. Chase was still in the rush- and the canoe was bending significantly in the center. I quickly needed to reassess my plan. I suppose I would have to tell his story instead. I would tell of his bravery and unwavering friendship. I would comfort his loved ones and speak of his unparalleled skill, and how he valiantly died doing, undoubtedly, what he loved most. 

After I had resolved that Mr. Chase would be the one to die, I shouted to him to tie some of the cargo to the rope. He faithfully did so, and I hauled it in with great effort. At last all of the cargo was on shore, and the canoe was just getting ready to split. I called for Mr. Chase to tie himself onto the rope, and he did so. Moving from rock to rock he assisted me as I hauled him in. 

Alas, once again, I had to reassess my plan. Whether by luck or accident, up until this point we had both managed to live. We sat down on the shore for a moment, panting to catch our breath and watching our vessel split down the center. We both realized, although we didn't speak it right away, that we had just lost our mode of transportation in the middle of the Adirondack wilderness. We merely looked at each other for what was likely only moments but seemed to be several minutes, until at last I blurted out, "That was awesome!"

A Monumental Task

Sorting through 7 years of accumulated treasures and the overloaded truck of treasures culled from 20 years at our previous place in Alaska is a job I have been dreading! 

Even though we don’t yet have an offer on the place, I know I have got to get started, if we are going to get it done in time for a closing this spring of summer!
.   

We spent much of the free time from last winter sorting through the treasures in the house.  This job has begun to actually wind down.  There are a remnants of the battle still scattered around the house and one room still needs some mop up action, but the end is in sight.

Looming on horizon is the shop with its piles of tools, exotic hardwoods hauled from Alaska and other treasures too important to part with. You know, all that stuff we haven’t needed in 20 years, or couldn’t find if we did need it.  Looming over each day, those piles aren't going anywhere unless I get a start!  If we are going to sell this place we are going to have to deal with it!

Squatting in the hillside behind the house, the barn waits with more of the same.  Equipment to fuel the shattered dreams of a farm.  Residue of countless projects stumbled through in a deep migraine fog. Jobs that HAD to be done even though I barely had the strength to get out of bed. Overwhelmed with a family and a farm to take care of, I stumbled on to the next project.

Scattered nearby are the piles of farm equipment essential for the farm powered by real horsepower, that was never to be.  More relics of broken dreams.  Dreams lost to years of illness and pain.

Last week I bolstered up may courage and attacked the upstairs of the barn (it was raining outside anyway!)  I dug into piles of wood scraps and years of old hay, shoveling and carrying it out to be burned.  It’s amazing how much garbage can pile up in a few years!

There was actually some good stuff in there too!  So I decided to stack it in three piles, stuff we are taking, stuff we can use when we remodel the bus for the trip, and stuff to sell or give away.

Chore time rolled around and I straightened my sore back from hauling countless loads of useless wood and hay out to the burn pile After  stacking the last 60 bales of hay into the corner I surveyed the job with satisfaction.  An awful lot more got accomplished than I ever imagined in just a few hours.  

 Maybe the shop and the outside will go faster than I think! 

 . 

I Survived the Sea

Today as I was going through papers and our mountains of stuff trying to figure out what to pack and what to keep, I stumbled upon an old story that I wrote back in college of one of my experiences  while commercial fishing near Kodiak Alaska, two summers before.  It happened just a little over a month before my 18^th birthday.

I hope you enjoy the story

 

August 10, 1988 dawned dark and foreboding on the rocky windblown shore of the pacific.  I woke from a restless night the wind beating the ramshackle plywood and canvas tent. Making it pop like a flag in the gale. 

I stumbled from my soggy sleeping bag and donned soggy salt encrusted cloths from the previous night on the water.  Looking out the tent door my gaze was met by the black green of an angry sea whipped into a fury by the gale.

Excitement and fear surged through me as I stood there transfixed at the door in the cold salty wind.  Slowly the realization dawned, through my sleep fogged mind, I would be out there in a small storm tossed skiff fighting those angry waves soon.  As my mind grappled with this realization there was another reality forcing itself upon me.  I had not eaten much since the start of my night shift picking nets the afternoon before.  I would have to get some grub before I braved that storm.

Pulling my coat tight around me I struggled into the full fury of the 80 mile an hour gusts.  Thirty feet away was my boss’s weather beaten cabin and food.

Opening the door the wind nearly blew me down as I stumbled into the cabin quickly shutting the door against the wind.  A meager breakfast of oatmeal mush, hot chocolate and dry bread were all that was to sustain me for the coming fight.

Nearly half starved from the long night of work and few hours of sleep I inhaled the meal and sat watching the angry sea. I sat spell bound as towering wave after towering wave exploded over the rock outcropping to which our fishing net was attached.

As I sat watching, out of the sheets of rain appeared our two other crewmen and my boss in the small wallowing skiff, struggling under the heavy load of the previous nights fish, that I had pulled from the nets. 

Watching the men and the boat fighting the mountainous sea and wind, I realized that they were running through the water were the net had been.  I watched as they probed the water with a pole searching for the net. Back and forth they fought through the waves searching for the net, torn loose from the rocks.

I watched as they found the end of the net and hauled the rope into the skiff.  They fastened it and turned the skiff around.

It was almost too much to ask of that poor little skiff so heavily loaded with fish now to drag a thousand feet of fish laden net through the storm.  But, there was no choice the net must be saved or our whole season could be lost if the net was ruined.  True to the nature of that little boat she fought her way valiantly against the tide.

 

I watched, nearly choking on my food, just as they reached the rock, a giant wave hurled them forward and dropped the fiercely on the jagged rocks. Struggling against the impact my boss grabbed the rope tied to the net and jumped for the rocks. In midair another wave engulfed the rocks and lifted the battered skiff back out to the relative safety of the sea.

Jolted into action I bolted for the door pulling on my slickers and boots as I went. I went through the door a piece of toast in one hand and pulling the second boot on with the other.  Blocked now from my view my boss was struggling amid water and waves cascading over the rocks.   Sprinting wildly across two hundred and fifty yards of windswept beach to the aid of my struggling boss I was soon scrambling over the seaweed encrusted rocks to the place where my boss was trying to secure the net. 

Thundering waves broke all around us it was hard to discern where sky ended and sea began.  Communicating audibly was impossible. The sound of your voice was whipped away by the wind and drowned by the thunder of the sea the instant it left your mouth.  I knew what had to be done. Grabbing the rope with both hands I pulled for all I was worth bringing enough slack to get the rope secured around the rocks well above the crashing surf.

Barely catching our breath we turned to see the rocks below us go bare for nearly twenty feet and a huge wall of water standing up behind the bare rock. It then exploded down upon the rock with a violent crash that was felt as much as heard, sending a cascade of water into the sky and completely drenching us. 

We sat there captivated by the awesomeness of the scene several waves came crashing in as we sat in wonder.  Then we realized that the net was tangled in the rocks below.  Without a second thought I scrambled down the rock, to the tangled rope.

Looking up I saw a giant wall of water standing above me.  I only had time to duck behind the rock and wildly grasp for the rope. 

The last thing I saw was a solid mass of green water come rushing around the rock.  There was no escape from the cold crushing grasp of the sea. 

For just an instant, through the wind, I heard the faint human voice of my boss as he yelled “NO! “ Then all was lost in the green, salty, rushing turmoil in which I was caught. There was no way out!

My head exploded to the surface I found myself being tossed with terrifying speed toward the rocks from which I had just been torn.   Again my boss screamed. “NO!” as I hit the rocks.  I clawed with every ounce of my strength to get a hand hold.  The waves tore me lose again, into the sea, to be tossed like a tiny rag doll. 

Once again the cruel waves pummeled me into the jagged rocks ripping my raingear and my hands to ribbons.   With bloody fingers I clawed more desperately for a hand hold not sure if I could last another wave.  Once more the waves engulfed me and I was in the grasp of the sea.  Again the rocks loomed up and I was battered by rocks and waves. This time I was able to dig my mangled fingers into the cracks in the rocks and drag myself through the surging tide. 

Two eager hands reached down I reached out and grabbed my bosses hands and we struggled up above the reach of the waves.  We collapsed onto the rocks sheltered from the wind two hundred feet from where I was washed from the rocks.

 

 

Into Uncertainty

Leaving the Northeast and looking toward Alaska and the wilderness is what consumes most of our time now.  Moving out of a spacious farmhouse, that we’d like to sell but haven’t yet, is mind boggling.  What do you do with all this stuff that we have accumulated? 

We are heading into uncertainty.  To no firm job, and a 30 year old 8 x 12 log cabin that needs major repairs.  Yet we still have to live here until the farm sells.  What do we pack and what do we leave unpacked to use?  Amazingly our five kids can’t wait for the adventure.

For one whole year we laid our farm in the hands of a popular farm realtor.  Not one soul did he bring to see our lovely little farm.  One family happened to see the listing on his website and came up to see us on their own.  They arrived out of the blue!  My house was a wreck.   But they were very impressed that our children were in the kitchen doing dishes.  I spent the next hour giving them a tour of the land and buildings.  They thanked me nicely and were gone.  They had to sell their own place first. 

Determined, we gathered up the videos and photos taken over the years here and created a YouTube tour of the farm.  We were thrilled that almost a 1000 people saw it.  Several people contacted us via email but again nothing panned out.

Plunging on ahead we contacted a friend and local realtor.  The broker was impressed with the homesteading possibilities of our 53 acre farm.  So many things are already set up.  Barns, storage, shop, root cellar/ walk in cooler, garden area, apples trees, raspberries are just a few things. He was eager to link to our website, blog, Youtube channel and Facebook pages.  Potential buyers could follow our story and begin to create one of their own by purchasing our farm.  As we forge ahead in this new path we hope the expanded exposure will bring a buyer so we can make summer plans. 

Back to the Farmer Markets we go if we are still here this summer.  But some of the markets need to be reserved by April 1st.  Will we know what is happening by then?  We are to the point where new displays are a must.  Ideas for the new displays are rolling around in our minds.  It is a definite go ahead to make them as they will be useful in Alaska.

How do you take five kids, two dogs and two parents across the country, feeding and housing them with a very limited budget?  Add in that we have numerous food sensitivities and eating requirements that don’t allow us to eat out.  Everything must be prepared from scratch with hard to find ingredients. Of course that’s a no brainer.  Get an RV.  Oh wait……any RV that we can afford always has major issues, most of which are mold.  Our family has serious health issues with mold.  Scratch that idea.  Anyway, where we want to go exploring once we hit Alaska would probably tear up an RV!  Then we discovered people are remodeling buses into mini homes.  What a great idea!  The ideal solution for us.  Lots of room, a serious undercarriage that will handle most back roads and relatively inexpensive.

 I was planning to rebuild an old farm trailer to be road worthy.  It would enable us to carry more of our stuff when we moved.   Crunching the numbers to make it happen, I found that it would seriously remove too much cash from the tiny budget.  We would just have to toss more stuff and make do with the bus.

Now I am spending time each day on craigslist, eBay and auctions international looking at used school buses.   

Our next task is to figure out how we are going to support ourselves now that we are transitioning from a commercial farm to living in the wilderness.   Building on our experiences, skills and knowledge base we are working on several diverse income streams.  

Rhonda is drawing from her experience on the farm.  She has been making cheese, soap, baking for farmers markets and running a farm kitchen, cooking with the raw ingredients produced on the farm for 20 years. 

Several books are in the works they will tap her knowledge to bring tips and recipes to those wanting to gain an understanding of farmstead skills.   These books will be designed to help those wanting to get started baking for farmers markets, making cheese, or running a farm kitchen using farm produce.   Insights for those already living on a farm or small acreage, and wanting to produce more of their own products will fill the pages of these books.

Sharing Children’s stories and the adventures of the many wonderful farm animals that have shared our lives is another exciting opportunity to bring together Rhonda’s love of art and storytelling.

I am working on compiling the stories and adventures of my life and love of the wilderness.  I will also be chronicling our move into the wilderness.  Providing inspiration and practical insight for others dreaming about or planning to move to the wilderness is a passion of mine. 

There are also plans in the works for developing a manual for moving into the wild.  Filled with stories of people who have made the move successfully.  Gaining insights from each story to inspire and guide others craving for the freedom and peace of a life in the wilderness.

Soap making and Salve making will continue.  Building on both of our lifelong fascinations with herbs, wild edibles and their medicinal uses, we will be bringing more natural products to the public.   Wandering through the forest gathering each season, the bounty the wilderness provides, has been a dream of ours for many years.

Gathering from the forest natural materials for handcrafted items like baskets, bowls and other useful household utensils will round out our plans.

 

Family Winter Trip

My brother and I jumped off the three-wheeler, rushing to check on our little brother.  He jumped out of the weeds with a smile on his face! He thought it was a great ride.

Now to tackle the job of untangling ropes and reloading the trailer.  We tipped the trailer back onto its wheels, gathered all the scattered load and began reloading.   We lifted the plywood and coolers back into place and tied them down again as securely as possible.  My brother jumped back on top of the load and we all headed off down the trail again. 

Two or three miles later the rough trail had loosened the load and the whole routine was repeated. It would continue to be repeated every few miles for the rest of the trip. 

Gayland's Hill was soon upon us. I had been dreading the hill the whole way.   I knew we would never make it past the spring in the middle of the incline.

Fortunately the creek was low this time and we splashed across with no problems. My dad started up the hill with the four wheeler pulling for all it was worth.  He hit the mud of the spring and the machine began to spin and lost momentum. 

My brother and I had parked the three wheeler at the bottom of the hill.  We had developed the habit of making sure the machine in front had made the top of the hill before we tried to go up it with the second machine.   (Another lesson learned the hard way! it’s no fun having two machines stuck on a narrow trail on a steep hill!)   Knowing my dad would likely not make it up the hill with this big load we were already walking up the hill.  We began to run but it was too late.  We pushed for all we were worth but it would go nowhere.  There was only one solution now.

There on the side of the hill we started unloading the trailer, splitting the load into three manageable chunks. We stacked the heavy plywood on the upside of the hill.

It needed to be out of the way so we could get past with the four wheeler on our return trip.  

We had to go clear to the bottom of the hill each time to turn around. 

Three trips up and down the hill, we once again reloaded the trailer and started off on the last leg of the journey. Only about 5 more miles and this load would finally be at the cabin!

During this trip to the cabin we were hoping to get the last joists set and the floor on so that we could begin building the walls. 

 

We accomplish our goal.  Our trip back to town was much lighter with no problems!

It was fall and time for school.  My dad was back working long hours so we had to wait until Christmas break for our next trip.  Two whole weeks in the wilderness!  We  would be able to get a lot done in that time!

Carefully we packed the tools and supplies we would need for two weeks in the bush.  By this time we had two snow machines and two sleds so we could haul the whole family for the trip out to the cabin.  

We loaded up the truck and trailer with the machines sleds and equipment the night before so we would be ready to get an early start on the long dark drive to Talkeetna were the trail begins. 

Leaving several hours before sunrise, our goal was to to get started on the trail before sunrise so  we would have all the day light possible for traveling. 

We knew we would have a long trip ahead of us.  The sleds were heavily loaded for our extended stay.

Arriving at the trailhead, here is the typical process is for getting ready to head out:  

first you unload all the equipment that had been packed in and around the sleds and machines and pile it on the ground, second unload the machines and sleds.

Thirdly, it is time to sort the load into piles. One pile for stuff you will need on the trail before you reach the cabin. Another for the stuff you might need before you reach the cabin. The last pile for stuff you know there is no way you would need before you got to the cabin.  Then you look it all over and try to figure out how in the world it is all going to fit!  

We then lay a large tarp in the bottom of the sled with all the sides hanging out over the edges of the sled to form a sort of bag.  After that you start putting the stuff you won't need during the trip, on the bottom and the things you might need on the top. 

 

Once you get those two piles evenly distributed between sleds it’s time to pull all the sides of the tarp up and over the load and tuck them in tightly so the whole load is covered.   When you are traveling on the trails in the winter the machines kick up a lot of  snow spray and very soon everything is covered with a layer of snow.  The tarp keeps it all dry and clean.

 

Tying down the load is a very important part of the process.  You begin by lacing the ropes back and forth over the load cinching it down as you go to keep it all tight. 

 

The trail is so bumpy and rough that the loads will shift even when they are tied tightly.  If they are tied loosely you wont make it far at all before your load is all over the trail! 

 

When every thing else is tied tightly in place you pick up the trail essentials and tie them to the top of the load where they are easily accessed without uniting the whole load.    The sleds resembled a dog sled only made from metal with a platform to stand on behind the load.

This trip was different than the last one with our family.  It was winter this time and the snow was deep. It was piled up next to the trail like a high white wall.

We left the parking lot and town behind, the snowmachine engines popped along and the sled runners squeaked as they carried us into the frozen white landscape and away from the hustle and bustle of town. 

My heart was light as we set out on this  new adventure!  I was eager to see what was around the next bend and a anxious to leave behind the troubles and complexities  of life in towns and cities.  

On we traveled my dad often turning and looking back to make sure all was ok. Several times he stopped and everyone checked their faces and ears for frost bite.  The dogs were trailing behind and Moose especially, was in sheer ecstasy to be out on a beautiful day,  running to his hearts content. 

 

 

THE FIRST FAMILY TRIP TO THE CABIN

 

As we pulled away from the stream I was pretty sure Moose would take to the water.  He may have been a big wimp but I was convinced he would not be left behind! He was a much bigger, stronger dog than his mother! He just needed to have a little more motivation.

We started up the long, winding hill.  As the trail wends its way up to higher country there are open places you can look down to see the stream.  I looked back just in time to see him plunge into the river with great determined leaps! He was NOT going to be left out there in the woods, alone!  Before we made the top of the hill he had caught up and was in his usual place right behind the machine.

 At the top of the hill we stopped to give him a rest.   I petted him all over, telling him he was a good dog and I was glad that he joined us.

The rest of the journey was accomplished with no more great obstacles.  The few remaining creeks, though flooded, were all small enough that we were able to drive through them easily.  The water was deep and we were soaked again with each crossing.  Though cold and soaked to the skin, by the time we made it to town, we were grateful for the safe trip.  Soon we would be home where a hot meal, dry cloths and warm bed were waiting. 

I was bringing another valuable lesson back home with me from the wilderness.   Many times in our lives we come against obstacles that seem insurmountable with no solution. But if we don't give up and we persevere through the pain and discomfort we will make it through.   We really can accomplish more than we think we can, when we have to!

This lesson would be reinforced again and again on our trips into the wilderness and mountains.  A lesson that would give me strength to face the challenges, that unknown to me at that time, lay ahead.

Back at home, all I could think about was going back out to the cabin.  Nothing else could quite compare with the excitement, adventure and peace of the wilderness.  It was a place I truly felt at home, a place where I was measured by how I faced the challenges, not by the cloths I wore, or the music I listened to, or whether I was part of the cool crowd or not.

If you are patient and willing to learn, the wilderness has a vast store of riches for those who care to discover them.  If someone is arrogant and unbendable unwilling to learn, the treasures of the wilderness will never be found.

Finally the day arrived in late summer, we were once again on our way!  This time the whole family was coming and we had 3 full sized 4 x 8 sheets of ¾ plywood strapped flat to the top of the trailer for the floor of the cabin.   We had to tie them down flat on top of the trailer since they were longer and wider than the trailer and they would not fit any other way.  We topped the load with two coolers of food and the ever present chainsaws, ropes, come-along and other tools that might be needed on the trail.

 Approaching the railroad bridge, our first challenge of the trip became obvious.   The walkway on the side of the railroad bridge that is for pedestrians and machine use is 46 inches wide, plywood is 48 inches wide, there was no way those boards were going through that way. My dad decided that taking the trailer up on the railroad tracks and pushing it across where the trains run was the best solution. 

 I could not believe that my dad would decide to take the trailer across the train side of the bridge!  I was terrified a train would come as we were half way across the 400 foot long bridge.  There had been people on three-wheelers and snow machines killed riding down the middle of the tracks and not able to get out of the way in time. 

 We wrestled the trailer up on the railroad tracks and began the task of pushing it across the bridge, my dad pulling from the front and my brother and I pushing as hard as we could. 

 Looking across the more than 400 feet of bridge and expecting a train to roar down the track at any moment we started off, pushing for all we were worth.

 Every minute seemed an eternity! Finally, we made the end of the bridge it had been the longest 400 hundred feet of my life.  Enormous relief flooded through me as we pulled the trailer from the tracks.  We sat down with a sigh of relief. 

We caught our breath and recovered our nerves. Then we walked back across the bridge to drive the machines across, hitch up and continue our trip.

 My mom and dad on the four-wheeler, my youngest brother on the top of the trailer sitting on the cooler, and my middle brother and I on the three- wheeler.  The dogs were running behind. 

All was right with my world once again I was headed back into the wilderness to spend several days working on the cabin and exploring the country nearby.

As we continued on into the bush we realized that that big load of plywood high up on the top of the trailer was going to be a problem! It was constantly shifting and there was no good way to tie it on tight enough. The constant bumping and bouncing would loosen the ropes and soon the ply wood would begin to shift. 

Scrambling up the next hill, just ahead, we could see the trail tilted precariously. As the trailer bumped behind the four wheeler it caught the edge of the trail, flipping over.  My youngest brother went flying into the underbrush, coolers crashed to the muddy trail, and the three heavy sheets of plywood spread out like a deck of cards.  My Dad felt the load lighten and stopped.  Was my little brother hurt?

Battling the River

 Standing there on the bank of the creek, I looked down into that cold dark water.  The four-wheeler was buried with only the handle bars breaking the surface.  My heart sank.  Would it ever start?  Was the engine completely ruined? How would we get home now?

 I learned a very important lesson of living in the wilderness that day.  When you are in a tight spot and it looks like you won’t make it through, don’t worry about the things you can’t change and do what you can, even if it doesn’t seem to help the really big problem. 

My dad told me we needed to get the trailer unhooked. We could not pull them both out of the river hooked together.  He plunged in once again to the frigid water, groping up to his shoulder among the submerged branches to find the tongue of the trailer.  Finding it, he tightly tied a rope around it and then to the brush.  Now soaked to his shoulders in the icy stream he had the trailer secured and he could unhook it from the four-wheeler. It would now stay put while we battled with the stream to pull the four-wheeler up onto the bank.

Next we untied the rocks on the four-wheeler and dumped them into the creek.  The four-wheeler then began to float just slightly.  We pulled on the rope, still tied to the front.  There was no way we could overcome the power of the water without help.

We stopped to catch our breath and warm up a bit.  My dad decided we would try and use the three wheeler.  I untied the end of the rope from the tree and tied it around the axle of the three wheeler.  Once I had the rope tied and my dad was ready, I started the machine and slowly began to pull the four-wheeler up out of the water and then up the steep bank out of the creek. 

I was relieved.  We were able to get it up. One hurdle overcome!  Still, I had a nagging worry, would the machine start?  Was the engine ruined?  I asked my dad if he thought it would start. He said, “Well….. Let’s just let it sit and dry out and not worry too much about it right now. We need to focus on getting the trailer up out of the creek.”

 I looked down the bank at the alder brush whipping back and forth in the current.  The trailer was still tied to the bushes floating there like a boat.  Much of our gear and supplies were packed in water tight plastic buckets which provided floatation along with the wood and the balloon tires on the trailer. 

Now we just had to get it up onto the bank and out of the creek.  Overcoming the strength of the current without being swept down the creek along with the trailer would be our biggest challenge.  

 Once again we took the end of the rope that had been attached to the four-wheeler and plunged into the belly deep water fighting the current and brush. Making our way to the floating trailer, we tied the long rope to the tongue. We then stretched the rope up and around a tree, then to the three wheeler, pulling it as tight as possible.  I started the machine and pulled it forward to take out more slack. 

Now the rope tied to the brush was loose and my dad could reach down and untie that. With the machine I held pressure against the rope feathering the throttle so I did not pull too much until it was untied.  As soon as he yelled, I began slowly and carefully to pull forward. He guided the trailer along to keep it out of the brush. Slowly we were able to pull it up and out of the raging water to dry ground.

Another job accomplished!  We collapsed on the machines exhausted and tired but relieved to be out of the river!   As we looked across the stream our hearts sank we could see on the other side the shotgun leaning against a log and our two dogs, Moose and Babe, pacing the water’s edge.

The dogs were unwilling to cross the river and sat barking their dismay.  Someone had to go get the shotgun. I volunteered to be the one to cross back over yet again and to see if I could get the dogs to cross.  There was no way I could ever carry them across. 

Moose, my dog, was a husky, hybrid wolf, chow cross and his mother was a chow husky, neither one very small!  So once again I plunged in and waded the river.  When I reached the other side I slipped the shotgun over my shoulder and grabbed Moose and shoved him into the deep water. He swam a bit and turned around and came back to the shore.

Then I shoved his mother Babe into the stream, she took off swimming for the other side for all she was worth.  The current swept her downstream several hundred feet around the bend in the river.  Soon she appeared from the underbrush wet but no worse for the experience.

I grabbed Moose and drug him out again as far as I could, he just turned around and once again headed back to shore.  I decided I would just have to leave him.  He would have to figure out his own way across.

I plunged in to the bitter cold water once again. The repeated dousing chilled me deeper, nearly taking my breath away. The cold of the repeated crossings was seeping into my body making me more uncoordinated as I struggled across.  I staggered up out of the creek, I could hear Moose barking and see him pacing up and down the far side. He would just have to make it on his own. There was no other way.  I would be risking my own life, being swept down the river if I were to try and carry him across. 

Now the time had arrived, the moment of truth, would the four-wheeler start? The trailer was hitched and we were ready to go, if only it would start.   My dad turned on the key and the green light came on. Then he hit the starter switch and it cranked over a few times. Then it roared to life, oh what a relief!    I was very much looking forward to a warm meal and some dry cloths!   

Poor Moose was still stranded on the other side.   All we could do was leave him.