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!
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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! 

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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?

A River to Cross

 

We finished tidying up our camp.  Packing the remaining food we would leave in plastic buckets, we then pulled them high up into the tree out of the way of the bears.  The fire put out and everything in order, we started for home. 

 As we left the forest still dripped from the days of rain.  Crossing the first creek that flows out of the base of the beaver pond showed no hint of the high water that was ahead.  We continued down the trail another half mile.  The first realization that we were in for some high water was soon forced upon us.

Arriving at the second creek, Ellen's creek, we saw a stream normally only a few inches deep now a raging torrent. It was running through the brush on both sides of the creek.  We stopped, checked the stream then plunged into the freezing current. 

 The water rose above the tires and the machine began slipping downstream. The current was sweeping me away.  As the tires continued to churn they were able to make contact with the bed of the creek.  I was able to make it up and out of the current.   I wondered what the streams ahead would be like.

We came to Gayland’s hill, the steepest, longest muddiest hill of the whole trail.  The hill drops to the canyon below, nearly 200 feet.  Narrow and slanting outward the trail continues dropping where, at halfway a spring flows out of the mountain right in the middle of the trail.  A constant wet spot in the trail makes going up or down a chore! 

 Approaching the hill we found it muddier then ever and slowly began the descent.   We crept downward inch by inch, desperately trying to prepare for the corner and the narrowest part of the trail. We didn’t want to risk rolling off the edge of the trail and sliding down over the edge of the trail.

From far below, the roar of the raging river hit our ears.  I knew for sure that we were in trouble! Would we be stranded on this side?   Stopping at the edge of the once docile creek, I could see that it was running far too fast and deep to ride the machines across.

 We sat there for a minute in silence.   My dad decided that he would wade through a way to judge the depth of the creek.   The now wild current rushed up, grabbing dangerously at his now soaked coat, pulling at his feet, trying to knock him down.

Digging through our gear tied to the four wheeler we found the rope we always carried. I tied one end to my dad and he waded across the treacherous stream. Once across he yelled over the chaos of the raging torrent and told me to tie the end of the rope to the front of the three wheeler and push it into the stream.  Soon the three wheeler was completely floating and I was struggling against the current.  As we pulled and pushed the machine across the rushing creek, the current dragged us slowly downstream. 

Once on the other side, we started the machine and drove it up the bank to high ground.  We had made it successfully across with the first and easiest machine.  The four wheeler with the trailer would require different technique.

 We coiled up our rope and prepared to cross back over the icy raging stream.  Plunging into water up to our stomachs we carefully worked our way across the stream.

My dad explained to me how we would attempt to make the crossing.  First we would pile as many big rocks as we could on the front and back racks of the four-wheeler. Tying them into place, we hoped would keep it from being washed downstream

This time, I would wade across the icy stream with one end of the rope.  The other would be tied to the front of the four-wheeler, just like we had done with the three wheeler.   Then riding the machine my dad would hit the stream as fast as he could go and get as far across as possible. 

 Rocks were everywhere and it wasn’t long before we had the four-wheeler stacked with several hundred pounds and securely tied in place.  Ready to go once again, I had to brave the freezing torrent.  I had now been wet for over an hour and had crossed the 40 F stream twice.  Plunging in once more I headed slowly across.

Safely back across I secured the end of the rope to a nearby tree wrapping around several times, preparing to take up the slack as fast as possible. My dad hollered above the roar of the river to see if I was ready.  I nodded that I was. He started the machine and as he hit the water I began to take up the slack, running to keep the rope tight.  

I watched as the machine went deeper and deeper, soon the water was up to the seat and the trailer was floating, pulling the back of the machine down the river.  My dad and the machine were struggling against the deep current.  Then he hit the deep hole near the far side of the stream the machine plunged deeper, water covering the fenders and seat.  Now only the tops of the rocks and the handlebars were still above water.

 The machine drowned and died. I quickly wrapped the rope around the tree a couple more times and tied it off so that the machine would not float down the creek any farther. 

We were miles from town and the huge four wheeler was dead in the water.

Starting A Cabin

 

After successfully crossing the trestle we could see the two shiny rails stretching ahead, into the forest. After a quick look back to make sure I was ready, my dad took off, bumping down the rough trail right on the edge of the tracks.

The railroad is built high up on a gravel bed 15 to20 feet above the surrounding ground. A narrow trail was precariously perched between the railroad tie ends and the steep gravel bank.  There was so little room that I had to constantly watch so that I would not hit the railroad ties on one side or roll down the gravel bank on the other.

(The trail is much nicer now and is down beside the railroad as is shown in this picture above, which I took recently, much safer!)

 

Mile by mile we traveled. Riding along my head was filled with thoughts of what might lie ahead.  I was startled out of my day dreaming.  I looked up to see a large light in the middle of the railroad tracks! Where  was I to go? the train was coming! 

My dad stopped and motioned me to get over as close as possible to the edge of the bank. As I dismounted, the train was upon us. It towered over us, rushing at us with a shrill of the whistle and  burst of wind.  Waving cheerfully the engineer smiled and was gone. Then all we heard was the regular beat of the train as it rolled by just a few feet away.
 

We continued on, turning off the tracks into the forest. The trail led away from the lowlands into the foothills of the Talkeetna Mountains, toward the place I had been dreaming about for so many months.

What a different place than the white sea of snow I had experienced the winter before.  Now it was one long ribbon of mud and water interspersed with creeks.  On and on we went through unending mud puddles. It wasn't long before I was soaked to the skin.

As the trail lead deeper and deeper into the forest it became less and less traveled. The mud gave way to tree roots and the humus of the forest floor. Making the trail drier for sure, but oh so much more bumpy! 

Traveling on,  the hills became taller and the creeks larger.  Stopping for a rest my dad said that we were getting closer.  Just a couple more miles and we would be there!  He pointed out over the valley and from where we sat we could see a large swampy area about a mile away. 

This is the swamp that lay behind our place.  There was only two more stream to cross, up a short hill and then just a few more twists of the trail and we would be there!

 
I stood looking southeast over the valley. Stretching on as far as you could see were more valleys, hills and mountains. I could hardly contain myself, what a land, what a fantastic land to roam and explore!

 Impatient to move on and reach our destination we started off. The forest changed again.  Now  we traveled through a mixture of trees and open meadows.  The  grass and fireweed, 6 to 8 feet tall all around us, a perfect place for a bear to hide! 

As we climbed the last muddy hill  and crossed the last muddy stream, my excitement grew.  Then I saw a ribbon on a tree.  Even before my dad stopped to tell me that this marked our property line, I knew  I had come home.  I looked around at the forest and knew this was a place to rest, a home.

We soon found a convenient place and set to work making a temporary camp.  This camp we would use as we built our cabin.  We made a ladder of large spikes driven into a birch tree.  Then we could string a rope high in the tree, to keep our food  out of the reach of bears. 

Cutting slender spruce poles we used them to make a lean-to with tarps.  It would give us a dry place to cook, eat and rest besides the tent.   After the lean-to was built we set up the tent.  

By that time I was starving!   finally after building a roaring fire and hanging my wet cloths to dry it was time to eat!

Sitting down by the fire after a long, cold wet day I was ready to soak up the warmth and rest. 

The next few days were filled with rain and work cutting trees, putting joists on the floor and getting ready for the plywood flooring.  Finally it was the last soggy evening.  It was time to pack up and head home. 

Unknown to us the streams we had crossed a few days before with ease, had become raging torrents.

 

Why Home to the Wild?

 

What would make a person want to leave the comforts and conveniences of modern life to live in a place without what we consider the basic necessities of life?  Who would want to live without conveniences like running water, electricity, grocery stores, TV, a bathroom and a car? 

  How can one explain the deep quiet of the northern forest wrapped in snow?  Or the incredible sharpness of everything as the sun is slanting across that same landscape at 25  degrees below zero. Where every twig and needle is on fire from the light and you hardly want to breathe for the beauty, that almost defies reality.

 Could it be the draw of a life, away from the overwhelming complexity that our modern society heaps on us?  Maybe there is a longing deep inside some of us for a life where things are clearer where life is more stark... more real.

Maybe the virtual reality that we have created for ourselves is not real enough for some of us. Maybe we need to touch the earth, to feel and hear the wood burning that heats our homes, to grow and harvest the food that feeds us. Maybe some of us need to shape the dwelling that protects us.

Maybe it's not enough for some to just park in a building somebody else built, maybe some need to know and to understand, maybe some need to feel the biting cold and the warm rush of air as we come in from that cold.  Maybe the tepidity of our modern, climate controlled, comfort ensured lives is just more mediocrity then some can take! 

 Maybe some need to feel the extremes, to touch the sky, to really live! 

 These are the ideas and thoughts that swirl through my mind as I try and figure out why I have always been drawn to the wilderness. Why it has been such a reoccurring theme throughout my life.   This desire to live in the wilderness, through all the years and miles, has never gone away.  The desire to live away from the modern conveniences surrounded by the ruggedness and hardships of the wilderness have only deepened with time. 

 How is it that one can find peace and security in an environment that most view with at least some level of mistrust and fear?

 I will document here our family’s  move from where we are, to a life in the wilderness.  Where, at the age of 14 or 15, I knew I wanted to live.  

 How has it taken 30 years to come to this place? How will we make it happen? 

 I hope this story can help those who want to simplify or to live in the wilderness to begin their own journey.  To give them courage to swim against the current of modern societal norms.  I hope this story will not only provide those who have no desire to live that life an interesting story but, a deeper understanding of those who do want to live in the wilderness.

So how do you go about moving to the wilderness, is it really a place you would want to take your family and what does it take to make the change?

 Stick with me for a while hopefully as this story unfolds we will all learn the answers to these questions!