3 Women, 1 Man, His Wilderness Cabin

I woke up with my morning wood being chopped down. What?

It cannot be. I live alone. I live in the woods far from the main road, connected by an ATV-snow machine track. The track back from the main road is about twenty long miles of bog, swamp, mosquitoes, moose, grizzlies, wolves, buffalo, fox, and all of the other survivors of the wild of Central Alaska. I live in a homestead cabin thirty-five miles north of Mt. McKinley and forty miles west of Healy. I do not like being with company, and I live out here because I like to be alone with who I am. I am resolved to being a rounded square peg in a round peg game called life. Sometimes I fit in, but most often, I am a misfit.

Combat was my friend and refuge for too many years; yeah, it is what your thinking. This beat-up old warmonger now has a head full of nightmares. So far, no one has ever been at risk when I rotate to the other brain in my head. I am, by my earliest recollection, a pushover. The other occupant of my brain is unpredictable.

There was a dumb kid who died in a bus about a half-hour trek from my cabin. I once observed the kid back there near that old abandoned bus on a bright, yummy warm day. He was sunbathing among the mosquitoes, so I thought he was crazy, and I decided to steer clear of him. I knew nothing about him except he sunbathed on top of the bus among the mosquitoes. And, I knew that he had begun living in the bus. He was not looking for anyone, so he did not see me. In the black spruce thickets that form a patchwork across that vast sub-arctic plain, I was about five-hundred to six-hundred yards away. I was wearing some scrubby old camo, not to hide. It was what I had to wear.

I was bummed all that next winter after they found the kid dead. I later decided that I couldn't have helped him any better than the people who attempted to talk sense to him before he ever left the eastern states. All that misguided thinking only to kill himself on poisonous weeds in the wilds of Alaska. It sounds like a good idea, right? None of that was a good idea.

Taking all of my Navy separation pay, dad's inheritance, and North Slope Oil Pipeline savings account to buy land. I bought three hundred twenty acres of proved-up and patented homesteads in the wilderness where I now live.

The purchase was easy. The title documents and the changed tax status approval went slow, but it was all folded into one parcel in the end. There were four buildings on the properties I bought. The buildings were built on the four corners that met in the center of the parcel. I owned and had exclusive use of the lands one-quarter mile in every direction. The buildings actually were placed about ten feet apart, and all faced the same direction, so I thought I could just construct a structure between them and have a nice-sized home. It always seemed that the four homesteaders must have had a plan to combine their shacks at some point. I will forever wonder what stopped the merger.

I closed the purchase in late July. My purchase of materials for the house set me back financially. The price to haul everything to the site would not fit my budget until the cold set-in when I could use sleds to cross the wilds. When I finally accepted that it was ludicrous to do it in the warm season, I adjusted to having it delivered by snow sleds, snowcats, or an Akhio Sled. The ground, water, trees, and everything else freezes and can be traversed a million times easier than in the warm, soft, muddy summer swamps. So I stayed in Anchorage until that following winter.

It happened that winter came late, the ice froze late, and I couldn't get the freight moved in until the week before Thanksgiving. The freighter said he had overestimated the job. He handed me ten one-hundred-dollar bills as the overpayment refund. I assumed I didn't need to tip him, and he laughed and said, "No, your neighbor out there tipped me plenty."

I asked, "Neighbor?"

He said, "That's what she said. Lucky man."

I presumed he was talking about a man with the woman but knew I would learn about them soon enough when I returned out there next weekend.

He did say that I would like where she insisted he offload the materials. He added that he had merely followed her directions, as she seemed like a take-charge kind of woman. He didn't tell me anymore. We shook hands, departed Shakey's Pizza, where we met to get him paid the last of what I had owed him. We'd spent the majority of the time eating. He told me about the moose and wolves he saw going to and from my property. He had a cow moose follow his track for about a mile before she gave up attempting to catch up to him.

She had three very small calves from this last spring. The snow track went between them. He was pulling up a slope and could feel he was gradually losing speed and traction. If he waited for them to get to the same side of the track he wanted to take, he would have a big problem getting underway again. He sledded his load right up between them. The cow did not hesitate and came after him. At one point, she was beside him, running ahead, but the track seemed faster for him than the deep snow was for her, and she faded slowly.

He had feared for the calves because she had chased him so far. He had seen a wolf pack about a mile earlier. He was on the alert to spot the four animals while sledding out later than he wanted the next afternoon. He found three.

The track where she had left the calves was spread with a wide red snow and fur patch.

He found the wolves' track, but the weather was beginning to blow, and he headed back to the highway.

He sure would have liked to go after the wolves. Their pelts were paying about one-hundred seventy-five dollars for a prime black or a prime white. He tied a flagging of his own pattern on the tree by the bloody mess and a short line of additional flagging to indicate the direction to head from the tree.

He thought that if his girlfriend would give him the time this weekend, he might go wolf hunting.

I told him to come by anytime since he was such a natural kind of guy. He was comfortable with himself. There was a lot higher percentage of such men in Alaska, but even though the odds were good for women, the goods were odd. With 'Odd' being guys who couldn't and wouldn't be shaped by other people.

The refund was seen by a room of Shakey's Pizza luncheon crowd. Still, it was no big money deal in the post pipeline economy in Anchorage. I had counted out seventeen hundred dollars in fifties and hundreds. Then he had counted out the returned one thousand dollars. I didn't think about the money in my pocket until I paid for the gas for my truck and snow machine. He was an old stand-up style Alaskan businessman. Before the pipeline, the rule was a handshake, complete the agreement, pay cash, move along in life--no written agreements or written estimates. A person's word was good enough.

I called my sister and brother in California. I told them I was stepping off to the house in the wild and not to be surprised if they didn't hear directly from me until late April or even early June. We visited a little, and then I hit the road. I pulled off the highway at about eleven AM and took about a half-hour nap at the access road pull-out. When the cold eventually woke me, I rolled out of my truck, whizzed, noting that it froze in an ever-growing taller ice cube on the ground as I emptied my bladder. Yellow snow. So many jokes in Alaska about yellow snow. I will not go there.

I unloaded my machine and the Akhio Sled. Then I loaded the Akhio Sled with my supplies. After locking the truck and securing everything, I headed off home. I had three trips to make that afternoon, as this was 'moving-in day.'

The first trip was a cakewalk. The snow was firm, crusty, and frozen for about eight inches deep. The machine could ride on top, and the Akhio Sled wobbled in the machine track but stayed nose high for easy pulling. After noticing the smoke drifting through the patchwork woods and unloading all the gear, I got the binoculars out and scanned the tree lines. I eventually saw the smoke rolling upward down the slope and determined that the source was a former gold mine site. I didn't think anything of it, as old mines were often used for survey work and oil and gas exploration crews to siwash while crossing the wild.

I grabbed my emergency kit, rifle, water and went back for another load. Going out, I could feel the snow crust softening in the heat of the sun. I debated about waiting until morning to take a full load, but I let my wanting to finish the move-in be in the way of a smart decision. I decided to load up and just do what it took to muscle on back to the house. I knew that I was pulling a McCandless stunt in the back of my brain but couldn't arrest my eagerness to finish.

About two miles from the house site, it happened. The Akhio Sled tipped over, and the load came out of the tub and spread itself all over the six feet of drifted snow. I had been turning a sharp corner to exit a lake bed onto the bank, and the left tow bar broke loose from the hitch, and over she went. It was around three-thirty in the afternoon. At that point on the globe, that time of the year, that was sunset. In the Arctic winter, the light after the sun clears the horizon lasts about twenty minutes maximum. I was thus just beginning to figure out how to solve the problem as the natural light failed.

I dug through my scattered gear and found the lantern not broken, although the mantle was gone. I replaced the mantle by flashlight, got the lantern burning, and immediately saw about twenty flashing, swirling, glaring yellow spots at the lantern light's edge. The wolves were here. I knew I was safe with the lantern, but I would have to range farther out than the light reached to retrieve all of the spilled freight. That meant moving arms full of gear, which meant the lantern had to be placed in a safe, steady place so I could accomplish the gear transfer.

I could see the break in the tow bar would be easy to repair, except the parts I would need were back in Anchorage in my storage unit.

I didn't have the pieces necessary to fix it, so I started retrieving the closest freight. I began to stretch away from the light only to hear muffled growls just a little farther away from the lantern. I moved the lantern, then I moved more freight. Again, I moved the lantern, etc. I finished retrieving the gear. I decided to use the winch from the snow machine's front and tied a bird's nest of rope, wire, and tape to resemble the tow bar. I even had a tree limb tied into the nest.

I started the machine, made sure it would move the load, and turned off the lantern. I thought I could feel the wolves begin to move closer immediately. I began to move forward, watching the hitch lash-up and kept steering up the track. I made it about a mile-and-a-half to the foot of the rise my homesite was sitting on before the lash up came apart, and I was stopped again. By now, it was about six o'clock, and I had been sweating most of the day with the laboring necessary to get the job this far. I could feel the fatigue coming on.

I recalled a Marine survival class lecture with the awareness of the fatigue before they turned me loose to hide at Camp Pendleton in nineteen sixty-three.

'The first bad decision is almost always backed-up by more bad decisions attempting to overcome the damage from the first bad decision.'

The lesson learned was that a minute of thinking can overcome the tendency of doing the wrong thing first.

I sat on the machine, turned off the headlight, and just sat in silence with my eyes closed. I heard the wolves but knew the motor running would back them off a ways for hours. I kept my eyes closed and hit the starter so the engine would start. Then I turned it off again. I realized the solution to my problem in about ten minutes.

I opened my eyes, lit the flashlight, and immediately hit the starter because a large grey wolf was about three feet away and poised to attack, I believe. He shot backward, and I decided to leave the flashlight on, period. My heart was attacking the redline. Phew, I was full of adrenaline. I decided to sit a minute and calm down. I disconnected the Akhio Sled and rode the machine to the top of the rise, unloaded it into three of the four ten feet by eighteen feet prove-up cabins.

The building kit was placed beside the little buildings, sort of protected from the drifting snow. I grabbed a sheet of plywood, shot two holes in one end with my forty-five, reloaded the magazine, threaded a rope through the holes, and towed it back to the Akhio Sled. The wolves had sniffed all of the freight. One had even been happy to piss on some of it. None of the freight had been touched yet. I positioned the plywood and loaded about a third onto the plywood, built a bird's nest again, and towed it to the top, where I unloaded it and made two more slow trips.

It is nine-thirty in the evening. I have been laying on the pile of lumber, watching the Northern Lights wave all over the sky, horizon to horizon. I have never before or since seen such a glorious display. I drank more than my fair share of Schnapps since I was alone and rolled into bed without eating since about eleven AM, back when I woke up in the truck. The wolves decided to serenade me, and I didn't realize they had stopped until I woke up and went out to pee. The wolf tracks in the snow were dense. They had been all over, even up on top of the piles of building supplies. They left shit and urine frozen everywhere. I found the necessary stuff to make coffee and ham and eggs and finished breakfast as the light of the day was coming up about nine AM.

I dressed warmly in layers, grabbed the rifle, emergency light, water, and loaded the machine after searching three of the cabins and found a roll of plumbers tape. It was often referred to as the miracle 'Flexible Link' of the Alaska Bush.

I had seen plumbers perforated tape holding so many things in rural Alaska that I usually carried a roll in the glovebox. I didn't have any in the truck yesterday, however. In the survival life of the Bush, plumber's tape is more permanent than the isolation.

I drove my machine over to the Akhio Sled and replaced the tow bar with a pretty well-operating tow bar lash-up to go haul another load of my freight. I knew to treat the lashed-up pieces carefully; however, the terrain is extremely heavy, and there is no smooth way to get around out there. I found an easy speed to maintain and eased the repair into service. It held all the way to the truck. I debated going to get the hinge fixed in Healy about twenty miles up the highway or to rely on my plumber's tape. I loaded the Akhio Sled, snow machine, and off to Healy; I traipsed.

At Healy, I went into Jerry's Roadhouse, found Jerry, gave her a hug, and ordered a 'Squaw.' The 'Squaw' used to be that you ordered what you wanted, and Jerry would calculate a price each time. She must have lost money because that was the least expensive breakfast item on the menu. Jerry sat and flirted with me, and we recalled the last time we had a meeting of the Lions there. She helped me find a welder and went with me to get my part fixed. The repair shop was owned by a woman who was known to be rough in bed. I was not into rough sex, so I had always dodged her when she stalked the Lions meetings looking for meat. That's right, I am such a square peg that I walked away from a free pussy, more than once.

When she was through welding, she offered to fix dinner and heat her hot tub tonight if I wanted. I took a rain check. She said she was out to my property late last week and had a conversation with a woman who had invited her to come back and visit. She had a small place and had it fixed up cozy and tight for the winter. She said that she couldn't see my buildings from the ladies site, but by walking about a hundred feet up the little rise, she could see the stacks of building supplies being unloaded that day.

Can you imagine my state of mind? I bought this plot because it was away from people in general. I planned to be left alone and not be the square peg in a round hole any longer. Yet, now May was the second person to tell me a woman was roaming out at my property. And visitors! Fuck, I was agitated. That explained the smoke I had seen yesterday.

Now I wasn't even sure that I wanted to go back out there. But I was obligated and committed. Fuck it, I thought I would just run the woman off, I'd decided. I would.

After saying goodbye to the welder, May, I dropped Jerry and promised to see her again the next time.

I left Healy for the 'Bush.' Jerry sent me off with six of her famous sticky buns and a tub of maple frosting. I gave her a joint, a long kiss, and took a whiff of her neck. Behind her ear, I touched her with my tongue to tease her.

She bolted away, laughing, and said, "Do not start something you cannot finish now."

I smiled, nodded, waved, and off I went, knowing two women would warm me if I got too cold at home. I loaded all of the remaining freight even though it should have been a load and a half and slogged through the waning afternoon light to my home site. I saw zillions of moose, foxes, and porcupines but no wolves or wolf tracks. The bloody spot was almost unnoticeable now. The critters had eaten the red snow and hauled off even the fur chunks.

So is life and death in the wild. Daily death keeps everyone else alive.

I noticed lots of snowmachine tracks heading off in the direction the flagging indicated. I presumed there would be a smaller number of animals the next time the wolves surrounded me in the middle of the night. Able to get the freight all in and stowed before dark, I poured myself two fingers of Jack Daniels and watched the spectacular sunset. It was special. I thought to see this backside of Mt McKinley in the gold and pink glow of the fading light in a sub-zero sunset. Tomorrow I might take a picture or, soon.

It was a day, or so later, I had melted snow for about eight gallons of water, so I heated some to boiling and blended until I could stand the heat on my feet. I sat on the bench, and washed my feet, legs and arms and was about to wash my hands when there was a knocking at the door, followed by a salute, "Hello? Do not be alarmed, as I come in peace."

Before I could think, the door swung open! I rose and turned toward the door to see a nose of a little female face peeking from the snorkel-style sub-zero face opening on a very high-tech parka. The neighbor was staring at my cock and holding the door open. I reached for her chest and pulled her into the shack, and reached for the door to close it. All at once, I'm scrambling on the icy cold floor, trying not to fall. I was thrashing around for traction and a handle when both feet slipped in opposite directions. I did a split farther than any man should and rolled over on the floor, moaning, "Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" Holding my balls and cock with both hands as though they were so painful you cannot imagine, but you know if you have balls.

She finished securing the door and bent down to offer whatever there was that she might do for me. Unthinking, she reached for my arm to help me get up. She and I could both stand, but my balls were screaming to my brain for relief. All I could ever remember was curing the ache from the few times I had been hurt, thereby jacking off until I came. Somehow, coming kind of 'makes it okay' again within a few minutes.

Her hand was powder soft and dry, which was so calming that I can still feel her hand on my arm.

In agony, I said, "The only way I ever stopped the pain quick was to jack off."

The question came so quickly that I didn't consider where the conversation was headed, and I answered too soon. I should have thought about it first.