Woken by the sharp drone of a float plane passing over at
tree top height. Annoying sound to some,
especially city folk, but for those who live and work here it’s the sound associated
with supplies and rescue and a connection to the outside.
Butkus pacing the deck; time to go ashore. Into the inflatable and beached it on the
small patch of pebbled low bank. That
feature of this little notch in coastline is extraordinary. Most times these inlets, even the big ones,
are sheer sided. If you’re lucky, there
will be a small waterfall where you can catch some fresh water, but terra firma
is inaccessible unless you’re into rock climbing.
Followed Butkus up an old game trail to a bench and strolled
along behind him while he explored. Wasn’t
paying any attention to where we were going, so was surprised when I almost
stepped on a piece of sawn plank. Looked
up to find that Butkus had led me to the old homestead. I stood still and walked my eyes around the
site. Wouldn’t have come here by choice,
but seeing as how I was here anyway, I didn’t want to waste the opportunity.
House was larger, much larger than others built in these
isolated locations. Most places like
this are tiny log cabins, usually thrown up as basic shelter by an individual
or two. These were squats, and the
squatters had no legal rights to build or harvest on the site. But, the potential reqards were
tempting. Purpose was to log close to
and uphill from the water. The guys who really knew what they were doing would
strap on a pair of spurs and limb and top the tree where it stood. Then they’d fall it down the slope in the
hope that the momentum would carry it into the water. Dangerous and illegal work, but one big cedar
could bring as much as a millworker would earn in a couple of weeks.
I suspect the people who built this had gone to the trouble
of getting a timber licence for the property, and maybe even applied for title
after they’d homesteaded for a few years.
The timber licence would have given them the right to harvest the cedar
and fir packed onto these slopes, and to build a work camp.
The house didn’t look much like a work camp, though; more
like a family home. Instead of being made
of logs it was a framed construction using sawn lumber. Whoever built this house had gone to the trouble
of bringing in thousands of board feet of milled studs and sills and joists, or
they had set up a small sawmill right here, and cut the lumber themselves. Either undertaking was impressive and
inspired a long list of questions.
But the tide was about to turn, so there was no time for
playing detective today. I’d be back.
Back on the boat, maybe inspired by the presence of
civilization that the house represented, I dug through my modest music
collection and found one of the opera CDs there. It is a remastered version of Verdi’s La
Traviata with Maria Callas in the lead role.
I like to live simply, but the music system on my boat is extravagant. Slipping down that inlet with the speakers
cranked and Callas echoing off the sheer granite walls was something I’ll remember
for a long time.
The grin lasted all the way home.
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