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. 

 

 

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!