KULSHUN CABIN
KULSHUN CABIN |
a lonely cabin in the woods
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A lonely cabin in the woods situated far back in a national forest, it had seen many generations of hikers and climbers staying for intermittent periods, or just passing through on the way to the mighty mountain beyond. Some had left messages in the journal books, others just their trash in one corner, but most merely left with memories to review in future days and years to come.
Hewn from the from the logs and stones readily at hand it was a stoutly built structure designed to last the decades, no mean feat for a cabin sitting on the flank of like Mt. Baker. And though the cabin had been built well to start and maintained down through the years, it was truly now the winter of this cabin's life.
Trudging tiredly over the last rise my first view was of a simple cabin seated between two deep snow piles - piles grown large from snow sliding down the pitched roof of this cabin. A well packed path led down through the drifts to a solid plank door which swung easily into the dim interior. Inside a wood stove, tarnished with an age of use, sat coldly on a bench-top where some even colder hiker had attempted to cobble up fragments of stove pipe to the snow filled portal above. A massive table filled the middle half of the room. Strewn around this centerpiece were hinged storage benches, a couple counters, some shelving, and short wing wall isolating a second exit into a small corner covey.
Snow was everywhere. Some occasionally blew in through gaps in the chinking. Some rode in upon our shoulders in the cleats of our boots. I looked back to the cobblestone entry. It was too cold to consider the niceties of removing boots and jackets, we'd have to live with the snow. The solid plank floor look like it would had stood up to abuse much greater than the mere dusting of snow we tracked in. But not content to give up a problem which reflected on my comfort I next looked at the chinking in the log walls. What chinking was left there between the vertically placed logs was an odd mixture of wood wedges and twisted rope, but without a functioning stove it seemed a futile effort to patch up a few random gaps. A bigger hole was to be found in the cabin's one window. Here a small pile of snow lay frozen. Someone had attempted to fill the gap by wedging in two white plastic lids tops, the kind commonly found on five gallon restaurant pockets.
I scrapped a circle of ice off the window. Outside dusk was upon us and snow continued to filter down through the dense trees clustered protectively about this cabin. A snowball's worth slide off the roof atop the drift and rolled down to the window sill's edge. I thought to myself it wouldn't next take much to snow in this window, not what I would call an `exit in need.' I walked to door and stepped outside. Relieving myself while it was still light seemed like a good idea. I could navigate in the dark, but preferred known terrain to do it in. Standing beside a tree I gazed downward. `Don't eat the yellow snow, I chuckled to myself. The joke was probably as old as time. Around me snow drifted in across the trampled depressions, erasing the travel history of man and beast through the woods and across the open slope. The day had reached the twilight hour where gray sky turns black and cold air goes frigid.
Back inside I tramped the snow from my boots and took in the scene. Mindy had laid out the stove for me to start, a few rations and a water bottle. She, like the others, was donning more clothes. Unlike the others she had chosen this moment to be shy and so sought a private corner. But hey, at least she wasn't piling smelly clothes atop our soon to be dinner table.
Though the group had appointed me leader, none of this group - including my own sweet Mindy - were good at taking directions. So what if I was the most experienced mountaineer in the group, so what if it was my truck that got us to the trail head, so what if I had pushed hard to make this weekend happen, they'd do what they wanted to do. Me, I did what needed to be done. Right now we needed light to cook, light to eat by and light to prepare bedrolls by. So thinking I pulled out a couple candles from my pack and a lighter. Flint and steel be damned, I'll take a BIC anytime. I'd like to think some considerate hiker had packed in those straw covered wine bottles just for my candles, but I knew different. I knew the summer visitors to this cabin were of a different breed than me. They were the ones who couldn't be bothered to even throw the trash into the corner, let alone pack it out. I lit the candles and placed them atop the table. This was why they recognized me as leader, because I always knew what needed to be done and be counted to make it happen.
Later over the loud sputter of camp-stoves the group talked, teased and ate warm liquidy meals. They talked of who was the most ungainly on skis, who was the worse cook and who looked best in long johns - the usual. They also talked our trip tomorrow. No one kidded themselves about making it to top. This was winter after all, there were novices in the group and they only had the weekend. Still they discussed what would be the camera setting for a snow blown group shot atop the mountain. Never say die, this group. I liked them for it, they had a lot of heart.
And just as the seemed halfway warm, an illusion I assure you, we climbed the wood latter to the roomy loft above. Here I choose the largest of the small bunks, spread out the insulite, and spread out the zipped bags. It would be too cozy and too cold for anything funny, but there was no stopping Mindy from a cuddle. In the flicker of a dying candle John read aloud to the group from his latest used bookstore find. I listened to John read, wondered if I shed enough clothes to compensate for Mindy's warm body, considered if my bladder could make it till dawn.
Then out of the quiet the avalanche struck.
If you have any thoughts about this story - good, bad or indifferent - please don't hesitate sharing them with me. I value your thoughts.
Carl A Smith
Spring `98
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