Posts Tagged ‘cabin in the woods’

Long Pond Jackman Maine

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With fall quickly approaching we wanted to take a quick getaway before it was too late.  After a very busy summer we decided that a camp on a lake was what we needed.  We did a few searches and came up with some ideas and narrowed it down to the somewhere on the Moose River in Jackman with plans of climbing Kineo on Moosehead Lake and paddling some of the Moose river.

Recently we got a dog that did not have the best past and we’ve been working with him to give him the good life he deserves and he’s been doing fantastic.   We had plans to board him for the couple of days we’d be gone but we were ambivalent about doing it.  Then we talked with someone who had a bad experience where we were planning to take him and that sealed the deal – we were going to have to scale back our plans and the dog was coming along on vacation.  I’ve done my fair share of canoeing and camping in Jackman, but I had never heard of The Last Resort, which you can check out here   and that’s the place we decided on.  You can also find them on facebook here. As far as a remote Maine camp on a lake goes this place is idyllic.   The cabins are on Long Pond and spaced well with good vegetation buffers so you barely know there are people next to you.  There are lots of trails to explore, canoes/kayaks to rent, and the log cabins are very nice with porches overlooking the water.  If you’re looking for the log cabin on a lake Maine remote vacation this is the place, and we’ll be returning at some point in the future.

 

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The Rhyme of a Remittance Man

Egypt Stream

A somewhat obscure, but decent poem written by Robert Service .  The text of the poem is below.

 

 

There’s a four-pronged buck a-swinging in the shadow of my cabin,
And it roamed the velvet valley till to-day;
But I tracked it by the river, and I trailed it in the cover,
And I killed it on the mountain miles away.
Now I’ve had my lazy supper, and the level sun is gleaming
On the water where the silver salmon play;
And I light my little corn-cob, and I linger, softly dreaming,
In the twilight, of a land that’s far away.

Far away, so faint and far, is flaming London, fevered Paris,
That I fancy I have gained another star;
Far away the din and hurry, far away the sin and worry,
Far away — God knows they cannot be too far.
Gilded galley-slaves of Mammon — how my purse-proud brothers taunt me!
I might have been as well-to-do as they
Had I clutched like them my chances, learned their wisdom, crushed my fancies,
Starved my soul and gone to business every day.

Well, the cherry bends with blossom and the vivid grass is springing,
And the star-like lily nestles in the green;
And the frogs their joys are singing, and my heart in tune is ringing,
And it doesn’t matter what I might have been.
While above the scented pine-gloom, piling heights of golden glory,
The sun-god paints his canvas in the west,
I can couch me deep in clover, I can listen to the story
Of the lazy, lapping water — it is best.

While the trout leaps in the river, and the blue grouse thrills the cover,
And the frozen snow betrays the panther’s track,
And the robin greets the dayspring with the rapture of a lover,
I am happy, and I’ll nevermore go back.
For I know I’d just be longing for the little old log cabin,
With the morning-glory clinging to the door,
Till I loathed the city places, cursed the care on all the faces,
Turned my back on lazar London evermore.

So send me far from Lombard Street, and write me down a failure;
Put a little in my purse and leave me free.
Say: “He turned from Fortune’s offering to follow up a pale lure,
He is one of us no longer — let him be.”
I am one of you no longer; by the trails my feet have broken,
The dizzy peaks I’ve scaled, the camp-fire’s glow;
By the lonely seas I’ve sailed in — yea, the final word is spoken,
I am signed and sealed to nature. Be it so.

Tales of An Empty Cabin

Tu es mon compagnon de voyage!
Je veux mourir dans mon canot
Sur le tombeau, près du rivage,
Vous renverserez mon canot!

When I must leave the great river
O bury me close to its wave
And let my canoe and my paddle
Be the only mark over my grave.

Translated by Oliver Call.

 

I can’t recall for sure where I first came across the book Tales of an Empty Cabin, written by Grey Owl. It was possibly just a random book search. I’m glad I did though, because it is a remarkable book, and extremely well written. Grey Owl’s entire life was a bit of an enigma. The world first heard of him through his writing, and then eventually speeches that he was asked to give. To the world he presented himself as a Native American who had an Apache mother and moved to Canada to join the Ojibwa and first was a wilderness fur trapper, who then turned conservationist. His writing is very pervasive, romantic, and tugs at the heartstrings. For me the pendulum swung the other way – I started out as a conservationist, swung to a trapper, and now things are evening out between the two. Time will tell where that ends up for me.  If you choose to read the book, keep in mind the time frame that it was written. In the early 1900’s beaver populations were drastically reduced due to exploitation. With the benefit of conservation laws, seasons, and limits, the beaver population is back with a vengeance. Here in Maine current laws are very liberal for the taking of beaver as the state has a large population. I believe that the ambivalence lies within all who take to the woods to some degree, and the pendulum can swing fast or slow in the process. Certainly reading Grey Owls account of listening to the mate of the beaver they had shot calling out through the night for its mate is very emotional.   In the story one of the people in the traveling party kills a beaver, and during the night they hear it’s mate calling out for it.  The member of the party sleeping next to Grey Owl asks what that noise is, and Grey Owl dismisses it to him as nothing.  But he knows what it is.

Trappers understand animals and their habits more than anybody, and it’s often hard to explain the conundrum of being able to empathize and befriend a creature of the wild whilst running a trapline for another. I guess I can empathize somewhat more with the coyote with mange, or the beaver with mallocclusion. Beaver, like other rodents have teeth that continuously grow, and they need to gnaw to keep them sharp, and the correct length. Mallocclusion is when one becomes out of alignment, or grows past the point where the beaver can gnaw it back, and the creature is left unable to eat, and sometimes the teeth grow long enough to puncture the skull. I’ve seen it.

My favorite story in the book is The Tree. The author describes in great detail the very long life of a tree, from when a squirrel accidentally dropped a nut on the ground, to the deer browsing it’s neighbors, the rabbit eating its bark, and the moose using it for sparring practice. It goes on to describe the native American that visited it, the white man that explored it, and the road coming through that killed it. It is a fantastic story that puts a lot of life and time into perspective for me.

Grey Owl is most famous for his cabin at Ajaawan Lake, where a beaver house was incorporated into the cabin, and he was made Honorary Warden for the protection of the beaver colony. The story is in the book, and is a well regaled account of the daily activities of the beaver, who were allowed to roam the cabin. It is also probably the first case study of its kind on beaver behavior. I love the stories of the beaver tetter-tottering around the cabin on their rear legs carrying mud for the lodge, of how the male would become aggressive and jealous of the author when the female would come into heat, and the stories of chairs and other woodwork being eaten and chewed in the authors absence. It must have been some interesting times, and it is great to be able to share them in the book.

Grey Owl never made it to his 50th birthday. For someone that passed so young, he had an incredible life. After his death, the enigma of his life was discovered. He was born in England in 1888, and had no Native American ties at all,  a fraud that dented the conservation movement he had created, but certainly did not change what he did, or his experiences.  It’s just who he wanted to be, and what he became.

Here is a video of Grey Owl, his cabin, and the beavers – I wish I could hear the real sounds in the video, the narration is a little cheesy, but the video makes up for it -

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And a short video of his cabin and the lake;

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And apparently I missed the memo when the movie came out – but one did – I’ll be watching it soon – here is the trailer:

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The Way Life Should Be

 

Having a cocktail sitting on the porch in front of an open fire, with a snowshoe hare pausing in it’s nightly travels to stare for a second.  Listening  to the rain pattering on the roof during the night, with a small warming fire in the woodstove.  Hearing the sounds of the forests without the clamor of other people – the drops of rain dripping from the trees onto the forest floor.   A bird in the hemlock singing in the morning despite the dreary weather.   Going to the small store down the road for breakfast and being asked if I want my bacon soft or crunchy, and whether or not I want onions in my home fries hon.  Having more food served than I can eat for less than six bucks.  Overhearing the owner offer someone that had some bad luck  breakfast on the house, and intentionally paying that forward by leaving a hefty tip for my more than I could eat breakfast eliciting a “God Bless you Dear”.  Stepping outside for a pee at two in the morning to realize again that when there is no man-made light for miles, it never really gets dark.  Even in  the rain I could see some of my shadowy surroundings.  Moments to live for, and the way life should be.

 

A Beast Caged in the Heart of the City

I long to awake in the morning, and put on an old flannel shirt and corduroy pants that are mended and moccasins covered with dirt – I care not a cuss where the place is, nor how far away it may be, so long as its up in the open where I can unleash and be free.

Anon 1947

I remember a line in a book I was reading years ago that said you could blindfold someone and put them on the tarmac in any city, and all they would be able to tell you is where they weren’t.   If you think about that for a minute you’ll realize it’s true.  Everything looks the same, there is no uniqueness or individuality.   As much as people complain (yet still go) to Wal Mart, as Americans we’re essentially living in one to some extent.

It always surprised me at the University of Maine when a student from an urban area of a different state would exclaim that there was nothing to do here.  It’s true that you can’t go hit a few comedy clubs at 11pm if you want, and there is a small part of me that misses that too.  But had I gone to college in an urban setting I would have said there is nothing to do here too.  We had a great time in college – we hunted, fished, explored, snowmobiled, and canoed.  I’ll always remember cutting classes on the first day of partridge season to go hunting in the warm October sun, and hanging out in the (now defunct) Rams Horn and Oronoka listening to live music in an intimate atmosphere.

Kids growing up these days aren’t exposed to the “other “ side of life that much anymore, and it wanes with each passing year.  As Aldo Leopold aptly said – “There are two spiritual dangers in not owning a farm.  One is supposing that food comes from the grocery store, and the other is that heat comes from the furnace.”  I would propose that his quote has more meaning today than ever.   With the unstable economies around the world, food prices being jacked up out of site because our nation’s corn is being converted to ethanol, and fuel prices never going back to the levels they were before, I think it behooves all of us to revisit the skills of our past.  There is a fantastic book called “back to basics” that pretty much has everything in it you would ever need to know on how to take care of yourself and become independent again.

Land in rural areas of this country is still cheap to buy.   When I built my cabin I had very rudimentary carpentry skills and yet with some determination was able to clear and stump a spot, cut, peel, and lug out of the woods each cedar log, and build it from scratch using hand tools.    Imagine no mortgage, no utility bill, and a small food bill.  Imagine the satisfaction of being independent, of not being tied to the latest woes of the economy.  Imagine no longer being a beast caged in the heart of the city.

Here is a video of camp going up.  I started harvesting the wood in 2003 and 2004.  In the fall of 2004 the cement piers went in – 2005 it got build, and in early 2006 I finished the inside.

 

A Cabin in the Woods


 

When I think of a cabin in the woods , I picture thick pine logs crafted into a squat building with a purlin roof and a curl of smoke passing from a stone chimney into frigid night air.  I’m not sure when the dream to have such a cabin took hold of me, but it took a turn in early 2000 when I bought 30 acres of  remote Maine woodland.  On my first viewing of the property within the first few minutes of entering the woods, I saw several deer and flushed a partridge, and looking around the vista surrounding me, I knew this was the place to realize the dream of a log cabin.  Of course the dream met reality, and I had to scale back my plans to what a working Mainer could afford.  At first, I looked at the kits from log home manufacturers.   Then I looked into cutting the cedar trees already on the property and paying to have them milled, but it was still too expensive.  Then I came across rough plans for a vertical log structure, in the old “trapper” style, aptly named because it could be built by one person, and the was the style the old trappers used to use on their traplines for a place to stay for the night.  Having only the most basic of carpentry skills, I decided to take things one step at a time, rather than letting the whole project begin overwhelming me.  I began harvesting the cedar logs , cut 73 inches long with a chain saw from the property, stripped their bark in the woods, and lugging them out one by one over my shoulder to the place where I had decided to build the cabin.  Old books advocate cutting the logs in winter so they would dry slower and thus be less apt to “check” during the process.  I suppose there is some truth to that, but stripping off cedar bark during the winter is hard work.  Granted, if you wait long enough it does get easier, but in spring and summer I could literally peel them faster than I could cut them.  When the change came in late August, it was dramatic.  One week the logs were easy to peel, and the next it was a bit harder, and then as the trees got ready for winter, it became really hard work to get one peeled.  I used a drawing knife and an old log peeler found in my grandfather’s garage.  I did experience some checking with the summer cut logs, but it wasn’t all that dramatic.  The biggest problem was the mold that grew on the wet wood.   I waited too long to bleach it, and some of it was permanently stained.  It took the weekends of two summers to get the bulk of the logs cut, peeled, and stacked to dry.  With the wood stacked, and still some time before winter set in, I decided to tackle the foundation. The area I had picked was relatively clear and level, needing only a little tree trimming.  After thinking it over and reading a couple of basic construction books, I decided the most viable and least expensive option was sonatube concrete piers.  The biggest problem with piers for a foundation is heaving in cold weather when the ground freezes and thaws.  But the soil at the cabin site was sandy, which meant it shouldn’t hold too much moisture.  I relied heavily on a wonderful book called Back to Basics   published by Reader’s digest, for the basic foundation knowledge.  This book has a wealth of information about all aspects of the old ways and common sense construction, but I was unable to find specific information on how far apart the support piers should be placed.  After speaking with a couple of local carpenters I decided on a dozen.  I then got it all square following the directions in the book, and  got it level using the old style batten boards.  At this point I rented a power auger and drilled the holes for the sonatubes, four feet deep for each.  I lugged in all of the 80 pound concrete bags by hand along with the water, and then mixed it on site.  With the upcoming winter approaching, I was happy to stop at this point, and anxious to see how the piers would survive the winter.  That winter was quite cold yet the piers showed no signs of failure that spring, so I felt comfortable that all was well.  It was time to start building.  The sills went on first, attached to the concrete piers with screws and metal brackets.  The joists and floor went on relatively quickly, and with only a few problems, all of which were fixable with a little backwoods engineering.  I was dreading beginning the walls with my less than perfectly straight logs, but they actually went on quite smoothly.  I would hold each log up against the last one installed and turn it to get the best fit.  Sometimes a log wouldn’t fit at all and a new one was chosen.  The logs were toe nailed to the sills.  Of course none of the logs were perfectly straight, but by using a level and eyeballing, I was able to guesstimate when things were as straight as they were going to get.  My goal for the gaps between the logs was an inch or less, and for most of them it was a half inch or less, with a couple of 2 inch exceptions.  I had to tear out several logs and replace them at one point as they looked straight close up, but crooked from a distance.  I tried to make things easy and simple and towards that end I cheated a bit on the windows and door by using landscape timbers that were milled flat on two sides and rounded on the other two.  By putting two landscape timbers together on either side of the windows and door, I created a nice straight and level place to nail the header and fit the frame.  With the goal of simplicity, I placed the top of the window header at the top of the wall and used landscape timbers as cripples to support the bottom of the window.  The header attached to the two landscape timbers took any weight off of the window frame.  I put in three windows and a door using this method, and they all fit and worked fine.  Once the walls and the windows were in I placed two landscape timbers on top of the wall, staggering where they butted against each other for strength.  This really strengthened the walls, made them a little taller, and gave me a place to attach the birds mouth of the rafters.  I learned from the mistake of a neighbor who was also building a cabin at the same time, to shore up the walls before putting up the rafters.  The rafters put pressure on the walls, especially before the collar ties are in place, and my neighbors walls bowed out after he put on the rafters.  Another lesson I learned with this project is that dimensional lumber isn’t exactly dimensional.  Several rafters jut out past others because they were longer than 8 feet.  A professional carpenter told me that they know this and slice off the ends after the job is done, I thought I had somehow screwed up measuring or cutting, until I thought to measure the original length of the board.  I consulted a carpenter’s book for the roof, which was built conventionally with a birds mouth to fit the landscape timbers on top of the walls, collar ties, and a ridgepole.  The only part of the cabin I probably could not have done myself was the ridgepole.  I put plywood on top of the roof,  and shingled it.  I wanted a metal roof, but the cost at the time was prohibitive.  At this point fall was fast approaching and I needed to get the cabin sealed for winter.  To fill in the gaps in the logs I used backer rod, which is formed from closed cell foam.  I was able to find it at a local hardware store in the mason’s section and I was able to order different sizes on line from a log kit company.  The backer rod filled in any gaps that were 1/8 inch or greater, and then I  put log jam over the backer rod.  Log jam is expensive stuff, but in my opinion, worth every penny due to the ease of use.  No mixing, simply squirt in in the gaps with a caulking gun and tool the excess with a putty knife.  I used 15 gallons for the whole outside of the cabin, with some left over for any gaps that might open later.   For heat I installed a woodstove and a back-up gas heater, along with a couple of small solar panels for lights.  I’m happy with the way the cabin came out, and I feel a huge sense of accomplishment when I stand back and watch the smoke coming from the chimney.

This is a portion of the story I felt fortunate to have published in the June 2006 edition of Fur Fish Game.

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