Interruption

It has been several months now since I found the snowmobiler.

After returning to town to share the find with officials I was sequestered in a whole new way. I was unable to return to my cabin for over a month while the investigators quarenteed the sight. It was an accident, they knew it and I knew it. Although, they were suspicious of my taking the snowmobile back to my cabin, they questioned how long I had known about it.

October, November, finally December and I have returned. Everything is in terrible condition, to make matters worse I have had to fight with constant ice and snow storms while making repairs and trying to keep myself warm.

Now that is all in the past, as January approaches I will have to work double time to recover my much needed stability out here.

Snowmobiler

I went back to the snowmobile site and did some more searching. I found a peculiar lump in the ground about twenty feet from the machine. After removing a thick layer of dead ferns and leaves I used a stick to push around the heavy wet detritus revealing what looked like part of a carcas.

Fully uncovered there lay a human skeleton, a light nylon jacket over a caked wool material. The persons canvas pants were saturated yet appeared dryly formed over the boney form within them. The condition of the clothes were quite astonishing compared to the condition of the body, not that I though either of them would be candidates for rehabilitation, but the way things are consumed after death out here usually leaving little trace it was suprizing.

I spent an afternoon checking over the body for identification. I figured I should report this to the authorities, hopefully to give some closure to the poor saps family.

A one August R Kline. He was going to be thirty a few days from now. His picture was hard to make out, it was faded and washed. His license expired over ten years ago. I have been here for two winters, never heard a snowmobile close enough to be him. He must have been out here for quite some time. I checked to see if there was any other dates or cards on him. Tucked in the anals of his wallet were three tickets for Metallica in 1997. He has been out here since then, I am certain.

I wasted no more time. I took his wallet, grabbed a bag of dried food and my back pack and headed out for the ten mile hike out to the road. No telling whats going to come of this.

snowmobile

Yesterday I was checking out the perimeter and stumbled across something I had not seen before. I have been through these woods up and down, every which way, I thought I had the whole place scoped out. About a mile from the cabin, in the thickest of pine forest I found a snowmobile. It had been there for quite a while. The faint yellow fiberglass nose was buried half in dirt, moss and pine needles, the rest of it lay mostly under a heavy limb that looked recent. The seat, a blackish vinyl, was completely deteriorated and it looked as though the foam was scavenged by mice. The metal track and ski were rusty but solid. How did this thing get here? I searched around for the whole afternoon looking for some sort of evidence of a person. I found nothing. I'll go back out in a few days and take another look. I am also considering salvaging the snowmobile. I will never be able to get it to run but I can use some of the parts for fabricating tools. My consciousness needs to be consoled by finding the rider.

I situated myself on the old boulder down by the creek where I usually made my castings for fish. The sun was peeking up through the pointed pines and the water was just glistining that early morning light. A deep breath took me back to the days last year when peril and uncertanty were looming. All is much better now. I have a home that feels closer to my heart than any other. I reminised the days I had spent down in the gorge of the Black River when I was younger. A couple snaggs and a few fish later I was on my way back to the cabin with food for a few days.

The cabin was still in shambles. I had to muster up some more pitch back on the old stone to fix the roof. Two days spent on that.

The wood pile needed some fresh wood for seasoning.

I set traps for squirrel and in the proccess spotted the bigest raccoon I ever saw.

Thats it.

back to the woods

Well, I gave it all I had. I went back to where my family lives and tried my best to readjust. There was no turning around for me. I have become too independent, too animal for that living situation. I have returned to my cabin.
The forest had taken over almost everything in the few months that I was gone. The garden was growing wild and rampant, beyond the fence. A tree had been stricken down and landed a good sized hole in the roof of the cabin, which let in squirrel and birds. I admit I almost turned back but I remembered that the purpose, or my purpose now rather, was my obligation to this place.
Over the course of the day I trimmed back the ferns and hacked out some lesser fruit plants. I covered the roof hole with a couple of boards, I'll have to fix the whole thing tomorrow. Its going to be quite a job getting this all back together.
In the morning I'll go catch some fish.

fare well march

March has come. As long as this month usually seems this time it has swept by. Looking toward the future has become a daily routine for me. The days are nothing but moments now, my work has become apparently futile. Considering what brother said to me not long ago, I think I may be preparing myself for leaving this place. The fact that I can leave here as easily as I arrived has squandered my intentions, if I ever had any. In due time, maybe tomorrow or the next day I will abandon my solitude, leaving all behind. In some ways I guess I look foreward to seeing and hearing others. To the hill side town I will return. The gardens will grow back and the deer can have them. The winter shelters will fall and be home to vermin. The cabin will go unattended and shelter coyote, or rabbits. The bluff will take only the company of the falcons. The stream will keep her fish and water. The forge will rot over time and be artifact to surveyors and developers a hundred years from now. Begotten to be forgotten. Spring will arrive without witness and my work will be washed by the undertow of nature.

Cold February, still cold

It was a couple days ago when I noticed the moon getting bigger. It was sitting heavy in the sky. Each night for the past week the sky has been so clear. Two days ago I noticed an eclipse, I was unaware of this on the calendar. It was the most beautiful eclipse I have ever seen. That moon was so red. It had become noticably darker out too. It is hard to imagine how shadows can work in such an enourmous place as outerspace.

God, this is a strange place to be.

Crystal Mountain

It has been quite cold this winter. In January there was a brief thaw, but in reality that seems to just make things worse, for both anticipation and practicality. The snow melted and turned to ice, making it more difficult to access items I had intered for preservation, such as meats and vegetables I kept in my little ground fridge.

Brother came out once in January, looks like that will be the last time he is going to make it out here for quite a while. He notified me that he is going to be moving down south, taking the family to live a better life. I told him life out here might be even better than that, he scoffed at that remark. He even suggested that I return to "normal" life. I told him after all I've been through out here, going back would be certain confusion and depression.

I am going to miss him.

Two days after brother left I woke to heavy rains early in the morning. I thought for sure that I was going to see another thaw and muddy mess. After slipping back into slumber and then awakening again just after dawn I looked out to see nothing but ice everywhere. I crawled out of bed and packed my leggings and sweater with newpaper threw on my coat and boots and headed out of doors. The sun was just making its way over the distant mountains which were whiter than snow. Each and every branch, sapling, and shoot from the ground had been encased in a neatly ordered one inch ice cylinder. The sun could play no better tricks on the eye in tandem with the ice than what was happening here, every chunk of ice became a prizm. A gentle breeze picked through and echoed the chatter of a crystal chandelier in a drafty room. I was yearning for home, for someone to share this experience with.