It rained for the first time the other day. I guess it was four days ago. I hadn't written since the night before the rain. Every last drop was a blessing from above. There is a new smell, like one that comes in a cellophane wrapper in the shape of a Christmas tree, Mountain Rain. The good news was that my roof is decent. Some water got in, but not too much. Also, it was warm. That, mixed with the rain was so refreshing. The bad news, when the wind shifted the rain sideways, it pounded through my walls. The inside of the hut got soaked as if there were no walls at all. Taking advantage of the rain, I mixed up a mud hole. The mud, I used to patch holes in the walls. This took up a lot of my time over the past four days. It's incredible how time consuming that can be. By the time I'd finished mudding my walls, I had a four foot deep hole, two feet in diameter. I've got plans for that.
I've spent a lot of time, after dark, just sitting by the fire, braiding bark. Yesterday morning, I finished my second ten foot rope. I managed to tie up my bed, hanging it from the rafters. I wrapped the ropes around the rafters, hanging about four feet down, two sections at either end. I then tied each to a corner of my bed, and hung it hammock style. It was nice to get off the ground for once.
Last night, I was more comfortable in bed than any night since I got here. Although I don't know where, exactly, here is, I've adapted and realized that, until further notice, here is home. I had another vivid dream last night. Not one that I'm not sure if it was real, but one that has me questioning if it was a memory. It was all so familiar, and I was certainly in the moment.
It was that woman again. The beautiful one with the blue eyes that cared so much. There was a boy, quite a bit older than the one she was nursing the last time. They were out, working in a garden. It was a vegetable garden with rows of carrots, peas, beans, tomatoes, potatoes, cucumbers, onions, peppers, and who knows how many other wonderful looking plants. The were harvesting what was ready. She, with her delicate, but worked, fingers, was picking tomatoes off the vine. He, at only three or four, picking and eating pea pod after pea pod, bush after bush. All of the sudden, the sky darkened. A storm moved in as if triggered by one pea pod being picked. She grabbed the boy, Scotty, I think she called him, grabbed her basket, and ran for the house. She had one hundred yards to cover, and was scrambling frantically to beat the imminent rain. She got about halfway when the skies opened up. It started pouring, and it began hard. By the time she reached the house, the rain had turned to hail, golf ball sized hail. She covered the boy's head to protect him, sacrificing her own well-being, and the freshly picked produce. The wind was picking up, whipping violently through the windows. I notice that I'm watching all of this from a pantry with no windows.
"Stay close, Scotty," she said, lowering him to the floor. "I don't want you near the windows. We need to find a safe place to hide out." She looked panicked.
I saw myself motioning to the boy, calling him towards me. Willingly, he came. Predictable, she chased him, basket in tow. When she was safely in the pantry, the door slammed shut. The wind continued to scream. The hail pounded on the roof and walls. We were safe. Hours passed in seconds, taking the storm with them. When all was quiet, she opened the door. What a beautiful sky. Straight above, it was clear blue, like her eyes. Off in the distance, the storm clouds had dissipated into remarkable whisps of clouds, dancing on the raindrops. There was but one problem with the view, she wasn't supposed to have it. She was standing in her kitchen, except she was standing on earth. She spent minutes marvelling at that fact. Here she was, standing in the middle of a wide open field seeing only her pantry and her garden. Hours earlier, there was a house surrounding the pantry, and a house to the left, and another to the right. Come to think of it, this was a busy street with hundreds of homes, and now, not one. Just a solitary room that I'd called her son to, and she followed, getting locked in in the process.
This was miraculous, without explanation. Fortunately, this was only a dream. It needed no explanation. It must mean something, having multiple dreams about a woman I don't remember. Like the last dream, I awoke wondering if this was a memory. Unlike the last dream, there was no direct communication between her and I. It's been an interesting week or so.
I am at the point where I don't really know what to do with myself. I've got a solid shelter, plenty of food, and a new friend. I go check the traps regularly. There's nothing in them, which is okay, since I'm pretty well stocked for food. I am starting to run a little low, though. On that note, I saw some deer signs the other day. They bed off the broken trail just past the brook. The strength and accuracy it would take to kill one would be remarkable. I'd be better off finding one dead already. Although, is something's going to kill a deer, I'll need to kill that.
I've been toying with the idea of making a bow an arrow again these past few days. The arrows are a simple concept, find a branch, whittle it down to size, make sure it's straight, apply a tip, add feathers. Scooter has been leaving a few floating around lately. I'm certain that I could successfully form a bow, as well. my problem is finding something to make the string with. I've considered using much finer pieces of bark, maybe white birch only. That would be increasingly tedious. I've even considered using some of the goat hair that I still have, but I'm not sure I'd have enough. I wonder if it would work if I could get a few long strings from my clothing. I've got a jacket that I haven't needed yet, and this polo shirt I've been wearing is a little long.
It's always easier to be resourceful when you have extra materials. In this instance, I don't. I may need to sacrifice a comfort that I currently have to get a necessity for survival. The thing that makes this choice difficult is the fact that I don't know where I am, and I don't know what time of year it is. Those two facts in combination make it difficult to judge what kind of clothing I'm going to need. The other thing making me nervous is that I'm not sure how to separate a single strand of string from my clothing, nor do I know if it will work.
It is possible that there are other options for how to capture food. I am clearly not a hunter, though I seem comfortable in the process. I am learning on a curve, gathering information I need when I need it. Who knows, maybe something will fall out of the sky for me today, eliminating my need to search for a new way to hunt. Obviously, I can't count on that happening, so it'll be another day of exploration.
Sunday, October 19, 2014
Day Eighteen
I didn't write yesterday. I really needed time to collect my thoughts. I talked to Scooter for a long while, trying to sort out the mass of information I had collected, or invented, over the previous twenty four hours. Really, I was just trying to clear my mind. After what must have been an hour and a half of carrying on, Scooter got up and flew off. I took that as a sign to go out and make something of my day.
I ventured off, down towards the brook, without much purpose. When I got to the brook, I decided to look around. I followed it south for a while. About a quarter mile downstream, it branched off in two directions - one to the southeast, one to the west. I decided to continue to the southeast. It just seemed and easier trail. There was no path, though, just less thick brush. Eventually, the trees began to thin out, and to my great surprise, the brook started to flow a little stronger. Soon, I could see a clearing. There was literally nothing ahead. It was getting much louder, too, like running water. I almost reached the clearing as I saw what was causing the extraordinarily loud noise. The brook, which had reconvened into a river, had reached a fifty foot cliff, and was pouring over into a large lake below. Even from the top, I could tell that it created quite a sight. I found a spot that I was able to climb down, and did so rather swiftly. The view from the lake was even more breathtaking.
Needless to say, I stripped down, and jumped in again. I swam as far out as I could, just to turn around and take in my location. As I assumed, there was a mountain. And, it was majestic. The woods went on, and on, and on. I'm pretty sure that if I managed to walk all the way through these woods, I'd end up in more before I'd ever reach a clearing. The river, even at its broadest point, was barely distinguishable. Quite impressive, the woods. I spotted a family of otter, and a few beavers swimming around, collecting supplies.
It was beginning to get dark as I emerged from the water. I knew I'd have to make good pace to make it easily back to camp tonight. I quickly got my pants and shoes on, and started climbing. Oddly, I haven't encountered and mosquitoes here. That's nice. As I approach the top of the cliff, I've planned to use the setting sun as my guide. I know I need to get northwest for a while, then continue to follow the water to where the brook is. If I can do that, I can make it safely home. I keep the sun to my left, while walking in the general direction. Eventually, keeping the water to my right, and trying to follow my own path of destruction, I make it back to the brook. Another hour, and I should be home. I took a short break for water and berries. Something smells strongly of garlic. Perhaps it's growing wild?
I made tremendous time getting back from the brook. I decided to forego building a fire, as it was already late. Besides, Scooter was already in the hut waiting for me. As I laid there in my bed, I pondered the previous twenty four hours. What I saw today proves that I may not be alone out here. However, I saw no evidence of anyone else. But, this place is vast, and there is plenty of room for many people. Did I dream up my guests? Are they he ones that I thought I'd heard around camp before? So many questions, and I don't even know where to start looking. I wish Scooter could speak.
I ventured off, down towards the brook, without much purpose. When I got to the brook, I decided to look around. I followed it south for a while. About a quarter mile downstream, it branched off in two directions - one to the southeast, one to the west. I decided to continue to the southeast. It just seemed and easier trail. There was no path, though, just less thick brush. Eventually, the trees began to thin out, and to my great surprise, the brook started to flow a little stronger. Soon, I could see a clearing. There was literally nothing ahead. It was getting much louder, too, like running water. I almost reached the clearing as I saw what was causing the extraordinarily loud noise. The brook, which had reconvened into a river, had reached a fifty foot cliff, and was pouring over into a large lake below. Even from the top, I could tell that it created quite a sight. I found a spot that I was able to climb down, and did so rather swiftly. The view from the lake was even more breathtaking.
Needless to say, I stripped down, and jumped in again. I swam as far out as I could, just to turn around and take in my location. As I assumed, there was a mountain. And, it was majestic. The woods went on, and on, and on. I'm pretty sure that if I managed to walk all the way through these woods, I'd end up in more before I'd ever reach a clearing. The river, even at its broadest point, was barely distinguishable. Quite impressive, the woods. I spotted a family of otter, and a few beavers swimming around, collecting supplies.
It was beginning to get dark as I emerged from the water. I knew I'd have to make good pace to make it easily back to camp tonight. I quickly got my pants and shoes on, and started climbing. Oddly, I haven't encountered and mosquitoes here. That's nice. As I approach the top of the cliff, I've planned to use the setting sun as my guide. I know I need to get northwest for a while, then continue to follow the water to where the brook is. If I can do that, I can make it safely home. I keep the sun to my left, while walking in the general direction. Eventually, keeping the water to my right, and trying to follow my own path of destruction, I make it back to the brook. Another hour, and I should be home. I took a short break for water and berries. Something smells strongly of garlic. Perhaps it's growing wild?
I made tremendous time getting back from the brook. I decided to forego building a fire, as it was already late. Besides, Scooter was already in the hut waiting for me. As I laid there in my bed, I pondered the previous twenty four hours. What I saw today proves that I may not be alone out here. However, I saw no evidence of anyone else. But, this place is vast, and there is plenty of room for many people. Did I dream up my guests? Are they he ones that I thought I'd heard around camp before? So many questions, and I don't even know where to start looking. I wish Scooter could speak.
Day Sixteen
Last night, after jotting my entry, I heard scuffling in the nearby brush. As I watched to see who, or what, was making the noise, Scooter dropped in, almost directly in front of the intruder. Fearing a fox, or even something bigger, I grabbed my spear and leaped into action. I shouted to Scooter to get into our shelter. Right at that moment, I saw a flash in the woods. Panic flashed, and my pace picked up. I was running full force towards the sound. As I got within a few steps of the treeline, a man steps out. I stopped dead in my tracks. Next thing I know, there's a woman by his side. I'm just standing there, gape-mouthed, staring. Nothing is said for quite a while.
"Who are you? What are you doing at my camp?", I finally stammered. "How long have you been watching me? Where are we?" I just kept going with the questions. They remained silent as I rambled, "What are you doing here? Did you kill someone, too? Do you have a camp nearby?" By this time, I think I might have been just talking to keep them from acquiring power. "What do you want? Why are you here? What were you going to do to my duck?" Finally, I ran out of breath.
Calmly, the man responds, "I am Peter."
"And, I am Theresa," the woman continues. "We saw your campfire going, and decided this was the best time to approach you."
"We first saw you two weeks ago, and have checked in a few times," continued the man. "Where we are is not important."
"You'll find the answers as you need them," the woman picked up as if on cue. This all seemed very scripted. She continued, "We are just watching over you."
"We mean you no harm. And, no, we haven't killed anyone," he chimed right in. "I'm certain that you haven't either."
"We do have a place up the mountain," she sounded almost welcoming. "But, we do not want any visitors."
"We just want to ensure your safe passage," said the man.
"Yes, we are here merely to give you guidance so that you can find your own way home." By now, she sounded like she was trying to sound mysterious.
Then the both laughed, "We mean no harm to your duck," said the man. "Scooter, was it?" I nodded. "we only wanted to speak with you."
Her face turned suddenly serious, "We just want to help you find your way home. You're a good person, but you're confused. You can find your way. You will find your way, but you need a light. We can help you. Just keep in mind what we've told you, and we will cross paths again."
At that, they both turned and headed out, through the trees, heading north. I finally caught my breath only to have Scooter flying right at me. I raised my arms just in time to cover my face. As he collided with my arms, I woke up. Yes, he was coming straight for my face, but I'd been asleep. There were no visitors. The Guardians of the Mountain didn't exist. I'd merely dreamed them up, perhaps just to ease my conscience. Either way, I've changed my mind. I may be here to be punished, but I'm being tested. It's not Job-like yet, but it could get there, and I'm prepared. The good news is that I don't have to be a wife beater or a murderer. I can wait to figure all that out. Like they said in my dream, I'll find my way.
Who are Peter and Theresa, though?
"Who are you? What are you doing at my camp?", I finally stammered. "How long have you been watching me? Where are we?" I just kept going with the questions. They remained silent as I rambled, "What are you doing here? Did you kill someone, too? Do you have a camp nearby?" By this time, I think I might have been just talking to keep them from acquiring power. "What do you want? Why are you here? What were you going to do to my duck?" Finally, I ran out of breath.
Calmly, the man responds, "I am Peter."
"And, I am Theresa," the woman continues. "We saw your campfire going, and decided this was the best time to approach you."
"We first saw you two weeks ago, and have checked in a few times," continued the man. "Where we are is not important."
"You'll find the answers as you need them," the woman picked up as if on cue. This all seemed very scripted. She continued, "We are just watching over you."
"We mean you no harm. And, no, we haven't killed anyone," he chimed right in. "I'm certain that you haven't either."
"We do have a place up the mountain," she sounded almost welcoming. "But, we do not want any visitors."
"We just want to ensure your safe passage," said the man.
"Yes, we are here merely to give you guidance so that you can find your own way home." By now, she sounded like she was trying to sound mysterious.
Then the both laughed, "We mean no harm to your duck," said the man. "Scooter, was it?" I nodded. "we only wanted to speak with you."
Her face turned suddenly serious, "We just want to help you find your way home. You're a good person, but you're confused. You can find your way. You will find your way, but you need a light. We can help you. Just keep in mind what we've told you, and we will cross paths again."
At that, they both turned and headed out, through the trees, heading north. I finally caught my breath only to have Scooter flying right at me. I raised my arms just in time to cover my face. As he collided with my arms, I woke up. Yes, he was coming straight for my face, but I'd been asleep. There were no visitors. The Guardians of the Mountain didn't exist. I'd merely dreamed them up, perhaps just to ease my conscience. Either way, I've changed my mind. I may be here to be punished, but I'm being tested. It's not Job-like yet, but it could get there, and I'm prepared. The good news is that I don't have to be a wife beater or a murderer. I can wait to figure all that out. Like they said in my dream, I'll find my way.
Who are Peter and Theresa, though?
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Day Fifteen
The last three days have been enlightening. I caught two raccoon, three rabbits, another chipmunk, and another fox in the traps, all on the second setting. I did try the fox. I will not be eating that by itself. It's a bit too gamey for my taste. However, mixed with chipmunk and some herbs, mainly ferns it's tolerable. Like I said, I refuse to waste these animals. I feel bad about killing them, I need to use as much as I can. I'm guessing that the flavor of the coons is not going to please me. I'm hoping that it is better than the fox, or at least no worse. I skinned the raccoon, and, after some thought, determined that I could turn the hide into fishing nets. I cut holes in it, about one inch square, to let the water flow freely through. Then, I smoked it to give it some girth. As for the new fox hide, I figured that it was about the right size for mittens. I don't know if I'll need them, but I'd rather be ready than caught red-handed.
The next day, I took my spear and my coonskin fishing net, and went on a hike along the river. I cut through my logging path. I did not reset my traps, although there were numerous fresh tracks. I'm hoping to find a new food source as I'm not overly keen on killing these little animals that already have little chance for survival. I made my way to the river, about one hundred feet north of the blockade that cuts it down to a trickle. Using some of my new braided vine, I tied off the fishnet to a nearby tree. I checked every two or three minutes for about twenty or thirty minutes without success. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. When I finally convinced myself to walk off and let it set, I realized that in two weeks here, I hadn't bathed. So, I went down by the natural dam, disrobed, and climbed in. It was so refreshing. I'm sad to report that I'm no David. I don't actually have a chiseled muscle on my body. The water was clear and clean, made me feel alive. I can't say that the cold water took anything away from the experience. After spending some time in the water, and admiring a couple of deer in a pasture on the other bank, I happened to look back towards where I'd left my clothes. There he was, standing there like he owned the forest. It would have been intimidating if not for the compassionate look in his eye. My duck friend returned. Just then, as if I was destined to know, I remembered the species - he was a young Surf Scoter. I decided to name him Scooter, mostly as a reminder, but partially because when I realized what he was, and mentioned the name, he scooted nearer to me. When I got out of the water, and re-dressed, I started to head back home. Suddenly, Scooter swoops around me, nearly knocking me over. I stood there, astonished. Then he scuttled back toward the river. I almost left him, then realized that he was breaking for the coonskin. I followed him back, only to find the net stocked with a multitude of fish. Just as in my dream over a week ago, there were perch, a few trout, at least one bass that I could see right off, and there, deep in the net was a salmon. This was quite a haul. I brought them back to camp, and cleaned them all off. Then, I put them back in the net and hung them from the rafters inside my new home.
That night, I had the oddest dream. there was a woman, maybe thirty, drop-dead gorgeous, brown hair, blue eyes, with the aura of a new mother. Even though I was unconscious, I felt a connection. She was running around, frantically searching for something. I tried yelling to her, to try to help, but she couldn't heat me. She continued to search, panicking more and more. She seemed afraid. Again, I tried to help, and again, she didn't hear me. All of the sudden, she stared crying. She just sat down and started sobbing. Tears poured out of her clear blue eyes, down her pale white cheeks. Her sobbing was real, as if she'd lost something important, dear to her heart. I wondered if she'd lost a child, but just then, the cry changed. Her's didn't stop, but another joined in. It was a child, and infant. She drew him in and said, "I'm sorry, Scotty, I want to give you the world, but I can't even feed you. I love you so dearly. I pray to God that I can give you what you need."
With that, I reached out and touched her softly on the shoulder. I was on the verge of tears myself. I thought, "Give him whatever you can, and he'll be alright."
At that moment, she opened her blouse, exposing a breast, which she offered to the child. He started to nurse, and the tears vanquished. Everyone was happy, mother providing, baby feeding.
I woke early yesterday. The sun was still at rest. Usually, when someone rises before the sun, they are either a farmer, due at work, or just troubled. I was none of the above. In fact, I was completely at peace with the world. I felt as though I'd made a difference. I know it was only a dream, but it felt as though I had given hope, and even life, to someone. As I sat in my hut reflecting and absorbing this feeling, Scooter had helped himself to a breakfast of perch. Even that didn't bother me.
After a while, I made my way outside. It felt good to actually notice going outdoors. In hindsight, I'd done it for a few weeks, but this was the first time I had really noticed. Outside, I laid back and looked at the stars, yeah, it was still that dark. They were magnificent. There was no moon, which accentuated their majesty. Laying there, I started to wonder, do I know the woman in my dream? Who was the child? Was this a repressed memory? I'd dreamed before, since I've been here, but only about this place. Maybe this woman and child were the people I thought I'd heard. While deep in thought, I noticed a shooting star, then another. I was up for this reason, I convinced myself. For five or ten minutes, this marvelous display continued. I soaked it in, hypnotized by it's wonder.
Later in the day, I made the connecting trek from my bathing hole to the brook. As it turned out, it is much quicker to go via the river than it is by the path. I found a small bamboo patch about halfway between the two. Seeing the bamboo triggered some sort of memory where I saw people using carved out bamboo stalks for a shovel. So, I returned to camp for my axe. It really is a great feeling when you realize that you are being both resourceful (out of necessity) and innovative (also, out of necessity, I suppose). I decided, after finding the bamboo patch that I'd give myself a day off. I brought with me, back to camp, an eight foot stalk of bamboo. I worked five feet of it into a shovel, although, in reality, it was more of an over sized scoop. With my next foot or so, I mad a cup for me to both transport and drink water. Until I find some fruit, that is all I will be able to drink. The last few feet of bamboo, I plan to attempt to make a pot with. It would be nice to be able to cook up a stew instead of simply slabs of meat.
I've been making some sold progress on my rope. Using various barks, and now soaking them prior to steaming, I've been able to make a pretty sturdy braid. I've managed to tie one end off to the roof of the hut. I hope to be able to put another up within the next few days. It'll be good to get up off the ground. I mixed up some coon eat with some trout. The fish was fantastic, nice and fresh, falling right off the bone; the raccoon gave it a bit of a spicy, rugged taste. It was actually better than the fox. Still, I'm going to hope, and search, for more conventional game. If I mix it up, I shouldn't disturb the ecosystem. Shortly after dinner, I fell asleep, which was refreshing. I awoke this morning, this time well after the sun, feeling well rested, undisturbed, and ready to go.
Evening, the fifteenth day
Solidarity, or isolation, is a funny thing. This morning, I was ready to go and embellish on the life I've worked on here. I searched around, collected some fern and some berries, huckleberry, I think. I roasted the fern, and ate it wrapped around the berries. Another "whip it together and hope for the best" meal. Actually, those are melding together much better lately. Anyway, solidarity. Over the past few days, Scooter and I had been nearly inseparable. When I finished my morning meal, he was gone. He was being a wild animal, I felt no obligation to track him down. I sat and waited for a while, and while I waited, I thought. It occurred to me that for the first time on this adventure, I'd be deserted. It felt odd, although there was no necessary loyalty. I thought of what my life would might have been, and why I was here, alone.
What I cam up was this. I was an only child, my father having left us when I was young, was out of the picture. That left only my mother and I. There was a male influence, perhaps an uncle, who helped me through scouts. That explains why I am so comfortable out here with no supplies to speak of. I went to college, probably a community college, and studied biology and some sort of mechanics or engineering. That would explain why I've yet to be poisoned by anything I've eaten, and how I've been able to construct the tools I've needed for survival. In college, I met a girl, perhaps the one from the dream. We were married at a lake, the week after we graduated. Only our closest friends were there, my mother, her parents, and her two older brothers, too. Our honeymoon was more of a week long party with family and friends at the lake, where her family gifted us a cabin.
Looking at myself, I'm assuming I'm about thirty, give or take two years. I figure that means we've been married for seven or eight years. They've been rough. She wanted kids, many kids. I wanted to focus on career, build a solid foundation for our life, then think about children. The wife and I fought a lot, about this and other normal things. One day, it escalates too far, I raise my hand to her, and the unthinkable happens. I strike her, then again, and again. Next thing I see, she's on the floor, and I'm kicking her, my eyes filled with rage, my heart with hatred. I storm off to the door, grabbing the keys to my pickup. I hop in the pickup, and blindly floor it, heading for the road. By now, I'm in a blind rage. Thump, thump! The truck jolts. Did I just hit someone? Was it her? I slam on the brakes, jump out, and go check. It's not her, thank God. But, I did hit someone, and he's still moving. I don't recognize him, but I see my wife in the window sobbing, seemingly for him. I give him a swift kick in the gut, hop in the truck, and peel out. Next thing I know, I wake up here, without anyone. Alone, as I deserve. I can think of no more deserving fate to give to a man than complete and utter isolation. Of course, I can't validate that scenario, and I'm not entirely sure I'm violent enough to do any of that. Nor do I know if I'm the type that would marry. But, that's the history I created for myself, and I'm here to be punished. At least, until I hear a better explanation.
The next day, I took my spear and my coonskin fishing net, and went on a hike along the river. I cut through my logging path. I did not reset my traps, although there were numerous fresh tracks. I'm hoping to find a new food source as I'm not overly keen on killing these little animals that already have little chance for survival. I made my way to the river, about one hundred feet north of the blockade that cuts it down to a trickle. Using some of my new braided vine, I tied off the fishnet to a nearby tree. I checked every two or three minutes for about twenty or thirty minutes without success. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. When I finally convinced myself to walk off and let it set, I realized that in two weeks here, I hadn't bathed. So, I went down by the natural dam, disrobed, and climbed in. It was so refreshing. I'm sad to report that I'm no David. I don't actually have a chiseled muscle on my body. The water was clear and clean, made me feel alive. I can't say that the cold water took anything away from the experience. After spending some time in the water, and admiring a couple of deer in a pasture on the other bank, I happened to look back towards where I'd left my clothes. There he was, standing there like he owned the forest. It would have been intimidating if not for the compassionate look in his eye. My duck friend returned. Just then, as if I was destined to know, I remembered the species - he was a young Surf Scoter. I decided to name him Scooter, mostly as a reminder, but partially because when I realized what he was, and mentioned the name, he scooted nearer to me. When I got out of the water, and re-dressed, I started to head back home. Suddenly, Scooter swoops around me, nearly knocking me over. I stood there, astonished. Then he scuttled back toward the river. I almost left him, then realized that he was breaking for the coonskin. I followed him back, only to find the net stocked with a multitude of fish. Just as in my dream over a week ago, there were perch, a few trout, at least one bass that I could see right off, and there, deep in the net was a salmon. This was quite a haul. I brought them back to camp, and cleaned them all off. Then, I put them back in the net and hung them from the rafters inside my new home.
That night, I had the oddest dream. there was a woman, maybe thirty, drop-dead gorgeous, brown hair, blue eyes, with the aura of a new mother. Even though I was unconscious, I felt a connection. She was running around, frantically searching for something. I tried yelling to her, to try to help, but she couldn't heat me. She continued to search, panicking more and more. She seemed afraid. Again, I tried to help, and again, she didn't hear me. All of the sudden, she stared crying. She just sat down and started sobbing. Tears poured out of her clear blue eyes, down her pale white cheeks. Her sobbing was real, as if she'd lost something important, dear to her heart. I wondered if she'd lost a child, but just then, the cry changed. Her's didn't stop, but another joined in. It was a child, and infant. She drew him in and said, "I'm sorry, Scotty, I want to give you the world, but I can't even feed you. I love you so dearly. I pray to God that I can give you what you need."
With that, I reached out and touched her softly on the shoulder. I was on the verge of tears myself. I thought, "Give him whatever you can, and he'll be alright."
At that moment, she opened her blouse, exposing a breast, which she offered to the child. He started to nurse, and the tears vanquished. Everyone was happy, mother providing, baby feeding.
I woke early yesterday. The sun was still at rest. Usually, when someone rises before the sun, they are either a farmer, due at work, or just troubled. I was none of the above. In fact, I was completely at peace with the world. I felt as though I'd made a difference. I know it was only a dream, but it felt as though I had given hope, and even life, to someone. As I sat in my hut reflecting and absorbing this feeling, Scooter had helped himself to a breakfast of perch. Even that didn't bother me.
After a while, I made my way outside. It felt good to actually notice going outdoors. In hindsight, I'd done it for a few weeks, but this was the first time I had really noticed. Outside, I laid back and looked at the stars, yeah, it was still that dark. They were magnificent. There was no moon, which accentuated their majesty. Laying there, I started to wonder, do I know the woman in my dream? Who was the child? Was this a repressed memory? I'd dreamed before, since I've been here, but only about this place. Maybe this woman and child were the people I thought I'd heard. While deep in thought, I noticed a shooting star, then another. I was up for this reason, I convinced myself. For five or ten minutes, this marvelous display continued. I soaked it in, hypnotized by it's wonder.
Later in the day, I made the connecting trek from my bathing hole to the brook. As it turned out, it is much quicker to go via the river than it is by the path. I found a small bamboo patch about halfway between the two. Seeing the bamboo triggered some sort of memory where I saw people using carved out bamboo stalks for a shovel. So, I returned to camp for my axe. It really is a great feeling when you realize that you are being both resourceful (out of necessity) and innovative (also, out of necessity, I suppose). I decided, after finding the bamboo patch that I'd give myself a day off. I brought with me, back to camp, an eight foot stalk of bamboo. I worked five feet of it into a shovel, although, in reality, it was more of an over sized scoop. With my next foot or so, I mad a cup for me to both transport and drink water. Until I find some fruit, that is all I will be able to drink. The last few feet of bamboo, I plan to attempt to make a pot with. It would be nice to be able to cook up a stew instead of simply slabs of meat.
I've been making some sold progress on my rope. Using various barks, and now soaking them prior to steaming, I've been able to make a pretty sturdy braid. I've managed to tie one end off to the roof of the hut. I hope to be able to put another up within the next few days. It'll be good to get up off the ground. I mixed up some coon eat with some trout. The fish was fantastic, nice and fresh, falling right off the bone; the raccoon gave it a bit of a spicy, rugged taste. It was actually better than the fox. Still, I'm going to hope, and search, for more conventional game. If I mix it up, I shouldn't disturb the ecosystem. Shortly after dinner, I fell asleep, which was refreshing. I awoke this morning, this time well after the sun, feeling well rested, undisturbed, and ready to go.
Evening, the fifteenth day
Solidarity, or isolation, is a funny thing. This morning, I was ready to go and embellish on the life I've worked on here. I searched around, collected some fern and some berries, huckleberry, I think. I roasted the fern, and ate it wrapped around the berries. Another "whip it together and hope for the best" meal. Actually, those are melding together much better lately. Anyway, solidarity. Over the past few days, Scooter and I had been nearly inseparable. When I finished my morning meal, he was gone. He was being a wild animal, I felt no obligation to track him down. I sat and waited for a while, and while I waited, I thought. It occurred to me that for the first time on this adventure, I'd be deserted. It felt odd, although there was no necessary loyalty. I thought of what my life would might have been, and why I was here, alone.
What I cam up was this. I was an only child, my father having left us when I was young, was out of the picture. That left only my mother and I. There was a male influence, perhaps an uncle, who helped me through scouts. That explains why I am so comfortable out here with no supplies to speak of. I went to college, probably a community college, and studied biology and some sort of mechanics or engineering. That would explain why I've yet to be poisoned by anything I've eaten, and how I've been able to construct the tools I've needed for survival. In college, I met a girl, perhaps the one from the dream. We were married at a lake, the week after we graduated. Only our closest friends were there, my mother, her parents, and her two older brothers, too. Our honeymoon was more of a week long party with family and friends at the lake, where her family gifted us a cabin.
Looking at myself, I'm assuming I'm about thirty, give or take two years. I figure that means we've been married for seven or eight years. They've been rough. She wanted kids, many kids. I wanted to focus on career, build a solid foundation for our life, then think about children. The wife and I fought a lot, about this and other normal things. One day, it escalates too far, I raise my hand to her, and the unthinkable happens. I strike her, then again, and again. Next thing I see, she's on the floor, and I'm kicking her, my eyes filled with rage, my heart with hatred. I storm off to the door, grabbing the keys to my pickup. I hop in the pickup, and blindly floor it, heading for the road. By now, I'm in a blind rage. Thump, thump! The truck jolts. Did I just hit someone? Was it her? I slam on the brakes, jump out, and go check. It's not her, thank God. But, I did hit someone, and he's still moving. I don't recognize him, but I see my wife in the window sobbing, seemingly for him. I give him a swift kick in the gut, hop in the truck, and peel out. Next thing I know, I wake up here, without anyone. Alone, as I deserve. I can think of no more deserving fate to give to a man than complete and utter isolation. Of course, I can't validate that scenario, and I'm not entirely sure I'm violent enough to do any of that. Nor do I know if I'm the type that would marry. But, that's the history I created for myself, and I'm here to be punished. At least, until I hear a better explanation.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Day Twelve
It's been the better part of a week since I last visited this journal. I've been so busy, successfully innovative, that I have hardly had time to think. Looking back, I was planning to embark on tool creation. The axe came out wonderfully. I was able to wedge the sharpest piece of slate into a three foot piece of pine. I barely got it in, and it hasn't budged yet. Then, I used a few other large rocks, placed into the earth a narrow "V" shape to create a sharpening device. Granted, a steel axe would be stronger, faster, and stay sharper, but this one is certainly doing its job. I was so enthralled by my new creation that I spent the rest of daylight "playing" with it. I chopped five loads of pine, it was incredible! I then discovered a new use for the axe sharpener. When I attempted to sharpen my knife, I got sparks. That, along with some dry leaves, pine, and fir needles, and a cedar branch vastly enhanced the fire making process, buying another hour of daylight.
Needless to say, I didn't get around to the shovel that day. I dreamt that night, more of a vision, actually. I awoke inspired to head out through the path I'd started while collecting lumber. In my dream, I'd come out on the other side to find a field full of deer, sheep, and even a few cows. It was possible that there were other animals, too, but these were the animals I'd eaten before. I knew that I'd find something useful there. As it turned out, I did. I found not more than thirty feet in from where I'd last harvested wood, evidence of rabbit migration. The trail was worn in both directions, and I could tell that it was an active byway. Immediately, I started whittling down some sticks. I found one about eight inches long, and notched two indentations into it. One was up near the top, and the other, more of a peghole, about two and a half inches from the bottom. I then proceeded to chisel a notch near the end of a four to five inch long stick. After there was a significant notch, I whittled the other end to fit in the peghole in the first piece. The third piece needed a notch about an inch from in from one end, and the other was chiseled down to fit the notch in the second piece. Within ten minutes, I had the pieces to my first figure four trap. Now, to set it up. I found a dark spot on the well-traveled byway, and configured the figure four, topping it with a five pound stone. Over the next hour, I set up four more of these traps.
I know that I wouldn't catch anything while I was there, watching them, so I baited them with a few berries each, and headed deeper into the woods. Or, so I thought. Within fifty feet of the small rodent superhighway, the trees thinned. There was the river, twenty feet across, and seemingly at least seven feet deep. Nothing I want to get caught up in. Walking with my axe in my left hand, and my spear in my right, I approached the river. The fish were overabundant. There were landlocked salmon, trout - brown, brook, and rainbow, perch, what might have been pickerel, and who knows how many other species. If I could figure out how to catch these fish, I'd have a hard time going hungry. To this point, I still haven't solved that issue.
Not to worry, though. Upon my return to camp, I was greeted by a wild, I hope, goat. While I was debating how to handle the situation, he charged. I thrust my spear, still with only the sharpened stick end into the goat's throat. He died almost instantly. That night, I skinned the goat, and gutted it, too. It's going to be a while until I get used to gutting animals. I have a feeling that the chipmunk was my first. I decided I could put the goat to good use.
The great thing about a goat is its size. After I had skinned it, and the pelt was laying on the ground I realized that it was the perfect size for a satchel. The only problem was going to be how to dry it out, and relieve it of any scent that may attract predators. At about that moment, I considered the fact that I had some strong log bones that would be needing to put to some use. I stabilized them in the ground and set the largest of the slate on the top, effectively making a tabletop. I dug a shallow hole under my new table top, and relocated some of the fire to the pit. For the next three days, I made sure that flame did not extinguish. The hide dried out, giving me a great way to transport smaller items to and from camp.
The next morning, I went to check my traps. By some stroke of incredible fortune, all five traps had worked. In three of the traps, I caught rabbit. In one trap, another chipmunk, and th other, a fox. I'm not sure about eating the fox, but the chipmunk, I've done, and the rabbits have been quite nice. I still haven't tried the fox, but I have cooked it. It's something I'm going to have to do, though. I reset all five traps, and added two more over the following days. I don't want to deplete these woods of the wildlife that lives here just for the sake of stocking up. I've got enough food to last a few days, and that is the only reason I am killing these creatures.
Meanwhile, around hunting small game, and drying the goat hide, I decided it would be wise to work on my shelter. I started to dig by hand, the holes for my main support posts. After I got about a foot down, and the basic shape was established, I used a piece of slate to expedite the process. I buried the posts two, maybe two and a half, feet deep. My guess is that the front of my shack is about eight feet tall, tapering back to about seven feet at the back wall. I stripped as much lumber as I could, and used what bark was strong enough to tie the lumber together. It's quite a job. This act amazed me to the point that, once again, I wondered who and what I was in my life before I showed up here. At this point, I have three suitably constructed walls, and a mostly waterproof roof over my head. During my explorations, I plan on gathering lumber to continually improve my shelter.
I've also begun to try to construct some type of rope. By stripping all lumber, I've been able to collect quite a bit of bark. I'd laid some of it at a time on top of the goatskin, in an attempt to soften it up a bit. That works, but I've got to constantly monitor it to ensure the right level of baking. Too much, and it burns. Too little, and it's not workable. When I get it to the right temperature, I can braid it together, and it holds well, working as rope. My hope is to be able to build a hammock and hang it from the ceiling of the shack.
So, it's been a pretty long week, but again, a successful one, filled with adventure, excitement, innovation, and hope. Today, I'll put hope to the test, and check in on my traps. I'll plan to also employ the adventure aspect by travelling the river, in an attempt to connect the dots I've already found. We will certainly see where the new day will lead me.
Needless to say, I didn't get around to the shovel that day. I dreamt that night, more of a vision, actually. I awoke inspired to head out through the path I'd started while collecting lumber. In my dream, I'd come out on the other side to find a field full of deer, sheep, and even a few cows. It was possible that there were other animals, too, but these were the animals I'd eaten before. I knew that I'd find something useful there. As it turned out, I did. I found not more than thirty feet in from where I'd last harvested wood, evidence of rabbit migration. The trail was worn in both directions, and I could tell that it was an active byway. Immediately, I started whittling down some sticks. I found one about eight inches long, and notched two indentations into it. One was up near the top, and the other, more of a peghole, about two and a half inches from the bottom. I then proceeded to chisel a notch near the end of a four to five inch long stick. After there was a significant notch, I whittled the other end to fit in the peghole in the first piece. The third piece needed a notch about an inch from in from one end, and the other was chiseled down to fit the notch in the second piece. Within ten minutes, I had the pieces to my first figure four trap. Now, to set it up. I found a dark spot on the well-traveled byway, and configured the figure four, topping it with a five pound stone. Over the next hour, I set up four more of these traps.
I know that I wouldn't catch anything while I was there, watching them, so I baited them with a few berries each, and headed deeper into the woods. Or, so I thought. Within fifty feet of the small rodent superhighway, the trees thinned. There was the river, twenty feet across, and seemingly at least seven feet deep. Nothing I want to get caught up in. Walking with my axe in my left hand, and my spear in my right, I approached the river. The fish were overabundant. There were landlocked salmon, trout - brown, brook, and rainbow, perch, what might have been pickerel, and who knows how many other species. If I could figure out how to catch these fish, I'd have a hard time going hungry. To this point, I still haven't solved that issue.
Not to worry, though. Upon my return to camp, I was greeted by a wild, I hope, goat. While I was debating how to handle the situation, he charged. I thrust my spear, still with only the sharpened stick end into the goat's throat. He died almost instantly. That night, I skinned the goat, and gutted it, too. It's going to be a while until I get used to gutting animals. I have a feeling that the chipmunk was my first. I decided I could put the goat to good use.
The great thing about a goat is its size. After I had skinned it, and the pelt was laying on the ground I realized that it was the perfect size for a satchel. The only problem was going to be how to dry it out, and relieve it of any scent that may attract predators. At about that moment, I considered the fact that I had some strong log bones that would be needing to put to some use. I stabilized them in the ground and set the largest of the slate on the top, effectively making a tabletop. I dug a shallow hole under my new table top, and relocated some of the fire to the pit. For the next three days, I made sure that flame did not extinguish. The hide dried out, giving me a great way to transport smaller items to and from camp.
The next morning, I went to check my traps. By some stroke of incredible fortune, all five traps had worked. In three of the traps, I caught rabbit. In one trap, another chipmunk, and th other, a fox. I'm not sure about eating the fox, but the chipmunk, I've done, and the rabbits have been quite nice. I still haven't tried the fox, but I have cooked it. It's something I'm going to have to do, though. I reset all five traps, and added two more over the following days. I don't want to deplete these woods of the wildlife that lives here just for the sake of stocking up. I've got enough food to last a few days, and that is the only reason I am killing these creatures.
Meanwhile, around hunting small game, and drying the goat hide, I decided it would be wise to work on my shelter. I started to dig by hand, the holes for my main support posts. After I got about a foot down, and the basic shape was established, I used a piece of slate to expedite the process. I buried the posts two, maybe two and a half, feet deep. My guess is that the front of my shack is about eight feet tall, tapering back to about seven feet at the back wall. I stripped as much lumber as I could, and used what bark was strong enough to tie the lumber together. It's quite a job. This act amazed me to the point that, once again, I wondered who and what I was in my life before I showed up here. At this point, I have three suitably constructed walls, and a mostly waterproof roof over my head. During my explorations, I plan on gathering lumber to continually improve my shelter.
I've also begun to try to construct some type of rope. By stripping all lumber, I've been able to collect quite a bit of bark. I'd laid some of it at a time on top of the goatskin, in an attempt to soften it up a bit. That works, but I've got to constantly monitor it to ensure the right level of baking. Too much, and it burns. Too little, and it's not workable. When I get it to the right temperature, I can braid it together, and it holds well, working as rope. My hope is to be able to build a hammock and hang it from the ceiling of the shack.
So, it's been a pretty long week, but again, a successful one, filled with adventure, excitement, innovation, and hope. Today, I'll put hope to the test, and check in on my traps. I'll plan to also employ the adventure aspect by travelling the river, in an attempt to connect the dots I've already found. We will certainly see where the new day will lead me.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Day Six
Morning, Day 6
I woke up inspired. I've already been out of camp. I jogged down to the brook. It was exhilarating. While down there, I grabbed a berry breakfast. Along with tools, I need to consider some sort of case, a bag or sachet, to carry stuff I collect back to camp. Anyhow, I feel great this morning. The jog was uneventful. However, I did feel like I was being watched. I've seen no signs of human life around here, so it's a bit unsettling to feel as if there is someone else here.
What I did find odd today was the wildlife. I saw a flock of mallards, male and female. They are so pleasant to sit wand watch, such communicable animals. Just for kicks, I peeled some birch bark and tossed i in their direction. What a scramble, just to fuss around with it. Off in the distance a ways was a gaggle of Canada Geese. There may have been some snow geese mixed in, too. It was hard to tell at the distance. Either way, they were beautiful birds. I saw no newborns with either group of birds, so my assumption is that it's either early spring or sometime in the fall. It doesn't really feel like either. Oh, that interesting duck I'd seen a few times previously showed up. I'm starting to thing that I've heard about his species before. I can't quite put my finger on it, though. He came around while I was picking on the mallards. He seemed to be scoping me out. He'd watch for a while, then waddle in a few steps. If I saw him moving, he'd scuttle around and retreat almost nonchalantly. He reminded me of a child trying to sneak a cookie before dinner.
No dreams to speak of last night. That could be why I was so energized this morning. Anyway, I've been eyeing my lumber stash while I've been righting, considering how to use what I have to make life easier. It'll be a challenge, but I think I have a piece of slate that, with a little work, can be sharpened into a blade to use for an axe. If I can get it wedged tightly into a piece of pine, I should have a nice tool. A shovel would be nice, but I think it will be trickier. I've got one piece of slate that is pentagonal, but I'm not sure if I could fasten it for a shovel. I'm going to have to see what I can do. Another useful thing to have would be rope, or a rope substitute I won't need that right away, but after I have shelter, I'll be looking into that.
When I finish with tool building today, I'm going to see how I'm going to see how I am at trap building. I can't expect to have animals throwing themselves into my hands like the chipmunk did yesterday. And, with no weaponry besides my pocket knife, I'm going to have to be resourceful. I've got an idea or two for capturing small game, and for now, I need only catch what I'll eat in one meal. I'll work my way up in size, but I have no way to store anything. Anyhow, the day is no longer new, and I should get to work before it's time to reignite the fire.
I woke up inspired. I've already been out of camp. I jogged down to the brook. It was exhilarating. While down there, I grabbed a berry breakfast. Along with tools, I need to consider some sort of case, a bag or sachet, to carry stuff I collect back to camp. Anyhow, I feel great this morning. The jog was uneventful. However, I did feel like I was being watched. I've seen no signs of human life around here, so it's a bit unsettling to feel as if there is someone else here.
What I did find odd today was the wildlife. I saw a flock of mallards, male and female. They are so pleasant to sit wand watch, such communicable animals. Just for kicks, I peeled some birch bark and tossed i in their direction. What a scramble, just to fuss around with it. Off in the distance a ways was a gaggle of Canada Geese. There may have been some snow geese mixed in, too. It was hard to tell at the distance. Either way, they were beautiful birds. I saw no newborns with either group of birds, so my assumption is that it's either early spring or sometime in the fall. It doesn't really feel like either. Oh, that interesting duck I'd seen a few times previously showed up. I'm starting to thing that I've heard about his species before. I can't quite put my finger on it, though. He came around while I was picking on the mallards. He seemed to be scoping me out. He'd watch for a while, then waddle in a few steps. If I saw him moving, he'd scuttle around and retreat almost nonchalantly. He reminded me of a child trying to sneak a cookie before dinner.
No dreams to speak of last night. That could be why I was so energized this morning. Anyway, I've been eyeing my lumber stash while I've been righting, considering how to use what I have to make life easier. It'll be a challenge, but I think I have a piece of slate that, with a little work, can be sharpened into a blade to use for an axe. If I can get it wedged tightly into a piece of pine, I should have a nice tool. A shovel would be nice, but I think it will be trickier. I've got one piece of slate that is pentagonal, but I'm not sure if I could fasten it for a shovel. I'm going to have to see what I can do. Another useful thing to have would be rope, or a rope substitute I won't need that right away, but after I have shelter, I'll be looking into that.
When I finish with tool building today, I'm going to see how I'm going to see how I am at trap building. I can't expect to have animals throwing themselves into my hands like the chipmunk did yesterday. And, with no weaponry besides my pocket knife, I'm going to have to be resourceful. I've got an idea or two for capturing small game, and for now, I need only catch what I'll eat in one meal. I'll work my way up in size, but I have no way to store anything. Anyhow, the day is no longer new, and I should get to work before it's time to reignite the fire.
Day Five
Morning, Day 5
Again, I slept well. I'm getting comfortable here. I awoke with the feeling that I'll be here a while. Although, when it's time to go, I feel that it won't seem very long at all. Anyhow, I've made plans to collect material for the shelter today. If I don't protect myself from the elements, who knows how long I'll make it. I'm envisioning a lean-to about six feet by nine feet, standing no less than seven feet high. Being in the woods, I should have no problem finding sizable lumber. My first chore this morning will be to construct some sort of axe from the stone I collected yesterday.
Being here alone, it may be of use to document my dreams as well as my actions. They say that cabin fever can drive a man insane. I cannot afford to lose it out here by myself. Last night, I dreamt about this place. I'm more thoroughly convinced now that there is a mountain to the north, and that the river originates at the summit. In my dream, I traveled north from the brook I visited yesterday. The river widened. About a mile upstream, the river was no less than twenty feet across, and moving rapidly. The fish were plentiful, and the wildlife abundant. The duck was there. Oddly, it was the only one of its kind. I can't identify it, but it's not a common loon or mallard. This bird was brown, with few markings on his head, notably the black mohawk. He almost looked like a Canada Goose, without the extensive neck. The water was clear, the floor rocky. I'm certain of crustaceous life on the rocky bottom. Every so often, I'd get a whiff of salty breeze, as if I were near the ocean. But which one? Will my subconscious force (or enable?) me to smell it while awake? I bathed in the river. It was refreshing. I was strong, as if I'd dedicated my life to my physique. I had a sculpted chest, and abs like Michelangelo's David. When I finished bathing, I made my way back to camp, pulling limbs off of birch, pine, cedar, and oak. I was strong, confident, determined. When I returned, I erected my shelter rather quickly, and with tremendous ease. I used the oak for the corner posts, and the birch for the framing. I filled in the walls using the pine, and the cedar branches, I used for the roof. I'd worked some of the barks into a braided rope which I used to tie the branches together. I had some left over that I was able to hang a hammock with. Then the shelter was finished, I awoke. I believe that this plan, latched in my subconscious, will guide me in constructing my shelter in reality. Ideally, I will collect the lumber I need in one day, with preparation of the branches consuming most of the next. I fully anticipate this filling my waking hours for the next five to ten days.
Evening, Day 5
Whew! What an exhausting day. I wasn't sure where to go to find the needed lumber for a shelter. I started out on my usual route along the northeast path. As I approached the first bend in the path, I saw four ten foot tall oaks with a solid twelve inch core. These were identical to the oak support beams I saw in my dream. As I found my way past the oak quartet, I found some birch, perfect for the framework of my recently envisioned living quarters. I snapped as much of those trees as I could, using whatever brute force I had in me. I broke off ten to twenty foot portions of six birch trees. That was very satisfying. I looked around, almost expecting to see a multitude of pine branches, ready for my plucking. What I saw was merely a newly cleaned trail back to my main causeway. I spent the next hour or two dragging the birch logs back to camp. When I finished with that transport, I was noting my fortune that I was only a five minute walk away from camp. At this point, it's pretty near the middle of the afternoon. With a few hours of daylight left, I decided to start the campfire. I'm getting increasingly better at starting the fire with only the few pieces of wood. Good thing, considering that's all that I have available. Knowing that I only have an hour or two of solid daylight left, I head back out in search of more lumber. I'm about to walk by the mighty foursome, when I see a chipmunk run straight through. For whatever reason, I follow him. During my pursuit, I realize that he'd be the first meat I'd eaten since I got here. That made my decision easy. I considered my options, do I find a good size rock and give it a good crack on the head? Do I hunt it down and throw a well placed rock? What's the most guilt-free, painless way to kill my first meal of substance? Then, he does something incredible. He runs four feet up a pine tree, looks at me, and jumps. Straight towards my hands. Instinctively, I catch the little guy. Then the survival instinct settles in, and with one swift motion, I snapped his neck. Quick, painless, and is should keep the meat intact. I made a pocket in my shirt tails, and put him in for transport. It's at this point I realize that he ascended a pine tree. Using the only tool I had, I sawed off as many branches as I could carry. Not nearly enough to seal tin the size shelter I am hoping to build, but enough to convey the illusion of a successful day in the woods.
When I returned to camp, I dressed off the chipmunk who made the sacrifice to be my meal, which I handled very instinctively. I'm really starting to wonder who I am. I made the initial incision at his genitalia, slicing toward his neck. I carefully peeled the pelt off, preserving it as best I could. I can never know when this might come in handy. I used a nearby stick to skewer the chipmunk, after I gutted it. The heart, liver, kidneys, and eyeballs were consumed after each were stone grilled over my mighty campfire. I don't think the eyes should have been cooked. The organs were tasty, and filling. I'm eating the meat now. Kind of meager portions, even for a chipmunk. They claim everything tastes like chicken. I disagree, chipmunk tastes like a saltless pork. It's safe to say that chipmunks are not safe in these parts, because I will eat them again if need be. It has certainly been a long day, and successful, too. The pile of timber proves that. I think, though, that tomorrow, I need to do something about my tool situation. I'm thinking at least an axe and shovel, which I may be able to construct. Maybe it will come to me.
Again, I slept well. I'm getting comfortable here. I awoke with the feeling that I'll be here a while. Although, when it's time to go, I feel that it won't seem very long at all. Anyhow, I've made plans to collect material for the shelter today. If I don't protect myself from the elements, who knows how long I'll make it. I'm envisioning a lean-to about six feet by nine feet, standing no less than seven feet high. Being in the woods, I should have no problem finding sizable lumber. My first chore this morning will be to construct some sort of axe from the stone I collected yesterday.
Being here alone, it may be of use to document my dreams as well as my actions. They say that cabin fever can drive a man insane. I cannot afford to lose it out here by myself. Last night, I dreamt about this place. I'm more thoroughly convinced now that there is a mountain to the north, and that the river originates at the summit. In my dream, I traveled north from the brook I visited yesterday. The river widened. About a mile upstream, the river was no less than twenty feet across, and moving rapidly. The fish were plentiful, and the wildlife abundant. The duck was there. Oddly, it was the only one of its kind. I can't identify it, but it's not a common loon or mallard. This bird was brown, with few markings on his head, notably the black mohawk. He almost looked like a Canada Goose, without the extensive neck. The water was clear, the floor rocky. I'm certain of crustaceous life on the rocky bottom. Every so often, I'd get a whiff of salty breeze, as if I were near the ocean. But which one? Will my subconscious force (or enable?) me to smell it while awake? I bathed in the river. It was refreshing. I was strong, as if I'd dedicated my life to my physique. I had a sculpted chest, and abs like Michelangelo's David. When I finished bathing, I made my way back to camp, pulling limbs off of birch, pine, cedar, and oak. I was strong, confident, determined. When I returned, I erected my shelter rather quickly, and with tremendous ease. I used the oak for the corner posts, and the birch for the framing. I filled in the walls using the pine, and the cedar branches, I used for the roof. I'd worked some of the barks into a braided rope which I used to tie the branches together. I had some left over that I was able to hang a hammock with. Then the shelter was finished, I awoke. I believe that this plan, latched in my subconscious, will guide me in constructing my shelter in reality. Ideally, I will collect the lumber I need in one day, with preparation of the branches consuming most of the next. I fully anticipate this filling my waking hours for the next five to ten days.
Evening, Day 5
Whew! What an exhausting day. I wasn't sure where to go to find the needed lumber for a shelter. I started out on my usual route along the northeast path. As I approached the first bend in the path, I saw four ten foot tall oaks with a solid twelve inch core. These were identical to the oak support beams I saw in my dream. As I found my way past the oak quartet, I found some birch, perfect for the framework of my recently envisioned living quarters. I snapped as much of those trees as I could, using whatever brute force I had in me. I broke off ten to twenty foot portions of six birch trees. That was very satisfying. I looked around, almost expecting to see a multitude of pine branches, ready for my plucking. What I saw was merely a newly cleaned trail back to my main causeway. I spent the next hour or two dragging the birch logs back to camp. When I finished with that transport, I was noting my fortune that I was only a five minute walk away from camp. At this point, it's pretty near the middle of the afternoon. With a few hours of daylight left, I decided to start the campfire. I'm getting increasingly better at starting the fire with only the few pieces of wood. Good thing, considering that's all that I have available. Knowing that I only have an hour or two of solid daylight left, I head back out in search of more lumber. I'm about to walk by the mighty foursome, when I see a chipmunk run straight through. For whatever reason, I follow him. During my pursuit, I realize that he'd be the first meat I'd eaten since I got here. That made my decision easy. I considered my options, do I find a good size rock and give it a good crack on the head? Do I hunt it down and throw a well placed rock? What's the most guilt-free, painless way to kill my first meal of substance? Then, he does something incredible. He runs four feet up a pine tree, looks at me, and jumps. Straight towards my hands. Instinctively, I catch the little guy. Then the survival instinct settles in, and with one swift motion, I snapped his neck. Quick, painless, and is should keep the meat intact. I made a pocket in my shirt tails, and put him in for transport. It's at this point I realize that he ascended a pine tree. Using the only tool I had, I sawed off as many branches as I could carry. Not nearly enough to seal tin the size shelter I am hoping to build, but enough to convey the illusion of a successful day in the woods.
When I returned to camp, I dressed off the chipmunk who made the sacrifice to be my meal, which I handled very instinctively. I'm really starting to wonder who I am. I made the initial incision at his genitalia, slicing toward his neck. I carefully peeled the pelt off, preserving it as best I could. I can never know when this might come in handy. I used a nearby stick to skewer the chipmunk, after I gutted it. The heart, liver, kidneys, and eyeballs were consumed after each were stone grilled over my mighty campfire. I don't think the eyes should have been cooked. The organs were tasty, and filling. I'm eating the meat now. Kind of meager portions, even for a chipmunk. They claim everything tastes like chicken. I disagree, chipmunk tastes like a saltless pork. It's safe to say that chipmunks are not safe in these parts, because I will eat them again if need be. It has certainly been a long day, and successful, too. The pile of timber proves that. I think, though, that tomorrow, I need to do something about my tool situation. I'm thinking at least an axe and shovel, which I may be able to construct. Maybe it will come to me.
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