I arrived in camp at around two in the afternoon.
I suppose calling it a camp might give you the wrong idea. Fifty years ago it may have been a camp. In fact it probably was a really nice one. But on that day it was remnants and shadows. Ideas of a camp long gone. Ghosts. Even though I was miles into the forest and had not seen another person for weeks, I could hear the conversations and stories of people. People doing camp work; cooking; telling lies around the fire.
At that moment it was an oasis. I had been lugging my come-along, overloaded with gear, for several weeks. The physical labor was a challenge, but the mental demands were even more onerous.
An old man had confided to me at a small-town gas station that this old cabin lie forgotten out here. But was he telling the truth? Or were his facts confused? And even if he had it all straight, who knew if it was still standing?
So while I was tired and sore and hungry from my journey, the sight of that rough structure restored me.
One might think my first impulse would have been to explore the cabin and camp remnants. Rather I sat myself down on a large tree that had been felled and dragged alongside the cabin decades before. I sat and surveyed my destination. The mountains and the trees and the sounds: in they soaked. The sun went between bright and soft, interrupted by puffy clouds. I closed my eyes and dreamt of being nowhere else.
The logical part of my mind told me that even though it was early in the day, I needed to get to work. There was no door on the cabin but the rest of it appeared sound. Perhaps it had been occasionally used by hikers and hunters and received some level of maintenance and repair over the years. I wanted to be able to rest under cover that night.
My next thought was of food. Water was flowing steadily in the nearby stream. I thought there may be fish to be caught and that would be easier and faster than having to hunt for meat. But my first action was to examine the cabin.
Even with the brightness of the day the cabin’s interior was dark. There was the opening that would be the doorway and next to that a large window opening. The window had no glass but a pair of hinged shutters that opened outward. Once I managed to get them open I found that the cabin was quite sound. It was dirty and filled with leaves and debris. But the wood stove, apart from being rusty, was in good order. And the galvanized chimney looked in very good condition, confirmation of my earlier thought that people had been periodically using the place. Cooking and heat would not be a problem.
The only other furnishing was an over-engineered and rugged sleeping platform. Fashioned from four large stumps of wood with hefty rough-hewn boards placed between them, covered with pine straw it would make for a plenty cozy place to drift off at night.
I decided that getting the cabin cleaned out was going to be my next activity. I figured that even if I did get a door fashioned by night, it would be makeshift at best. Shelter over my head, a fire, and a soft bed at that point were the luxuries I sought.
The cabin was situated on the edge of a large clearing or meadow, adjacent to the stream. The stream may be classified as a river, I’ve never been clear on the difference. It was probably a couple of feet deep, if not four, with sandy edges and plenty of rocks to provide cover for fish.
Behind the cabin just a few feet the forest resumed and closed in densely into the unknown. I had to only walk a few feet, with axe in hand, to cut a few fresh pine branches from which to make a sweeping tool. Calling it a broom would be an overstatement, but dense with green needles, it would do.
Before I put the broom to work I made several trips to remove the large piece of trash. Leaves, pine cones, twigs and branches were strewn everywhere. I suspect most were blown in by the wind, but surely some had been transported by creatures trying to take advantage of the shelter that the cabin provided.
Next up was the sweeping. The wind was stirring and I didn’t want to kick up a lot of dust, so I swept carefully. I started in the corner farthest from the door. Before I knew it the bare wood floor was looking back from every corner and I was hot, sweaty, covered in dust and sneezing with regularity.
I don’t know what time it was when I finished cleaning, but I was tired and while I did have some pangs of hunger, they were not strong. Rather than think of food, I turned my attention to the stove. A comfortable night’s sleep was quickly becoming a higher priority than a meal.
Once I opened the large cast-iron door of the stove I realized that my cleaning efforts should have started there. The fire box was as full as it could be with ashes. Just opening the door caused a big pile of ash to tumble out, cover my face and fill the air. The ashes would need to be shoveled out before any fire could be made or before I could ensure the chimney was clear.
I unpacked my shovel from the come-along and as carefully as possible, carried one scoop of ashes after another out of the building. I suppose it took about 20 minutes to get the ashes cleared out and learn that the chimney was in fine shape. But then I probably spent another 20 minutes re-sweeping the floor for the ash dust I had stirred.
It wasn’t yet cold, but I knew from the experiences of the past several days that it would cool sharply once the sun went into hiding behind the mountains. Around the old camp there was plenty of dry wood for the picking. Fortunately I wouldn’t have to chop or fell any fresh wood for several days. So I set about getting a fire going and stacking next to the cabin door a supply of wood.
With the fire going and plumes of grey smoke spilling up into the sky, I was ready to prepare the bed. I could feel the night moving in.
Several dozen big armfuls of pine straw carried from the forest floor were enough to give me inches of padding between my sleeping bag and the boards of the bed. I tested the cushion with my hands, afraid to lie down for fear I’d fall instantly to sleep.
Before I could sleep, I wanted to clean up. I headed to the river to wash up. It had been several days since my last splash off. After my hiking and cleaning the cabin I don’t know what a sight I must have been, but I felt like I’d shed another man by the time I had finished in the river.
Yes, having submerged myself in its cool, fast-moving water, I declared it a river.
I also learned while washing away the dirt and grime that the river was well-supplied with fish. I even had the boyish belief that, if fast enough, I could simply grab my dinner with my bare hands. I tried a few times and laughed at myself. I’m sure the creatures camouflaged in the forest were amused by the upright animal thrashing about and making strange noises in the water!
The better plan was to fashion a spear from a branch and in fact that successfully secured my dinner after about a dozen attempts. I cleaned the fish and, draped over a green limb, cooked it through the open door of the stove. Simple though it was, the fat flaky meat was a delicacy.
Fed and clean I regained my earlier position on the log outside the cabin. The stars were beginning to win their battle to light the sky. The moon, though not full, was bright and a few wispy clouds gave the sky a face.
I was tired, bone tired. But it was the good tired that comes from satisfying work. As I made my way into the doorless cabin I no longer heard the imagined voices of people from long forgotten camps. Now the only voices were those of the forest.
The camp had sent away the ghosts of the past and was making room for me, tomorrow’s ghost to a future traveler.