Wood - At home in nature: a life of unknown mountains and deep wilderness

Copyright 2017 by Rob Wood

First Edition

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Cataloguing data available from Library and Archives Canada

ISBN 9781771602501 (paperback)

ISBN 9781771602518 (electronic)

Distributed in Canada by Heritage Group Distribution and in the US by Publishers Group West

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RMB | Rocky Mountain Books is dedicated to the environment and committed to reducing the destruction of old-growth forests. Our books are produced with respect for the future and consideration for the past.

We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and of the province of British Columbia through the British Columbia Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

For Jennie, Sarah and Ashley

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

FOR EDITING AND ENCOURAGEMENT:

Judith Wright, Catherine Rubinger, Richard Wood

FOR ESSENTIAL TIMELY SERVICES PROVIDED IN FARAWAY PLACES:

Canadian Health Care

Canadian Coast Guard

FOR THEIR LOVING SUPPORT:

Laurie and Kiersten

INTRODUCTION

THE SHORT WINTER DAY IS fading fast. A swirling blizzard chills our faces and buffets every step. Exhausted, we slog slowly up through steep virgin forest. Deep, heavy, fresh snow sticks and balls up the climbing skins on our skis and slows us down even more. Our goal is a tiny alpine cabin 4,000 ft. above the ocean in our local coastal mountains. With this unusually deep snow pack the cabin could be buried. With no marked trail, it would be hard to find in broad daylight, maybe impossible in darkness and this snowstorm.

Dont fancy a night out without shelter in this. The thought drives us on.

Not everybodys idea of a perfect birthday party.

Just as darkness closes in, there are signs of the cabins position. The slope eases and the snow-loaded trees become smaller and more widely spaced. Headlamps, however, show nothing but undulating snow humps, any one of which may conceal the cabin. At first, as the six of us set to panicky searching, our probing reveals nothing.

Must be round here somewhere, I mutter in frustration.

Remember that gnarly old yellow cedar snag that stands right in front of the cabin? my wife, Laurie, thinks aloud.

Right now the trees all look the same, I grumble.

Yeah, but the cabin tree is bigger with no foliage like that one over there.

In the lee of the big dead cedar snag, the wind has scooped out a depression in the surface of the snow. A few stabs at the snow face with a shovel reveal the distinctive triangular gable atop the front wall of the cabin.

Eureka! Weve got it!

In pools of headlamp light, digging starts right away. Without discussion, someone clears the chimney top. Someone else chops down into the hard compacted snow pack while others shovel out the loosened snow and cut back a ramp for steps. About four feet down, the roof of the porch appears. Another eight feet down, and finally, Bingo! the cabin door. The whole group and their bulky packs squeeze into the 8 16 ft. cabin and ceremoniously shut the door, closing out the weather and the night.

Bic lighters busily light the white gas lamp, the propane cooker and the wood stove. A big stainless steel kettle, stuffed full of snow, melts on the stove for a brew of tea. One end of the tiny cabin is a general work space and cooking area where each body must now slide tactfully around the others to find enough personal space to strip off wet clothing and hang it from nails in the rafters. At the other end is a sleeping loft and tucked below it a plywood table with benches on either side which will be the centre of the evening eating and lounging. Then later the table will drop down flush with the benches to form another sleeping platform. The whole arrangement is compact and functional. In next to no time it is also warm and cozy. All the wet clothes are hanging up in the rafters to dry.

Very soon the master wilderness cook, Laurie, whips up what seems to us like a gourmet meal of curried chicken, complete with stewed fruit cobbler for dessert.

After dinner the conversation turns to the question, How did this all come about?

Laurie and I had decided to celebrate my 60th birthday by inviting a few younger outdoorsy friends to one of our favorite places on the coast, this funky old alpine cabin that had been built many years ago by some old-timers. It is in a remote area on the mainland, at the back of a small inlet not far from our home in the Discovery Islands.

After a three-hour ride in our 33 foot catamaran, Quintano, there was normally a six-hour hike from the beach, on old logging roads, then up a rugged trail through virgin old-growth forest to alpine meadows and wonderful open skiing and hiking slopes. On this occasion, as expected, the trail was invisible, buried deep in the snow pack, so we had to feel our way up the mountain, trying to stay on the crest of a subtle ridge. Although there had been bad weather forecast, we had set out anyway because trips like this take a lot of planning, its hard to get everyone together at short notice and, if the opportunity is not taken, there is a danger of not being able to reschedule, or of never going at all. Also, its possible to have a good time even in bad weather. Besides, the forecasts are not always correct. Today had been a long, tough day typical of bushwhacking in the Coast Range wilderness and, as usual, remarkably rewarding, especially after finding the security of the cabin.

Most of us are stripped down to our thermal underwear, hunkered onto a spot on a bench, with a mug of hot sweet tea and a big contented smile. What relief. Sheer luxury.

You notice we invited a few apprentices along to help carry our loads, as well as breaking trail, doing most of the digging and making the tea.

You must have learned a few tricks over the years, eh?

Well, you young guys do get a few benefits, like boat rides and being shown where the cabin is even in the dark, not to mention Lauries cooking.

Well buy that. After all the proof is in the pudding and the stew.

As we all subside into a long winter evening of relaxed and relieved euphoria, attention comes round to my birthday. After the usual congratulations, and sensing I am suitably primed for storytelling, some of the youths start asking questions, mainly about our alternative lifestyle.

What made you chose to leave the mainstream and come to live on a remote island on the BC coast? How and when did you find a place to settle down? When and where did you two meet? Was it love at first sight? How did you get started living on raw land? Whats your homestead and community like now?