cabin journey

I woke up cold, wet, hungry and slightly disoriented.

‘Where was I’?

I slowly sensed that I had been lying on the cold, hard ground in the forest instead of my warm bed. 

 ‘What am I doing here?’ 

Slowly memories flooded back into my brain like waking from a strange dream.

I had been accused of something that I did not do. I escaped to the forest because of the gossip people were spreading about me. I needed time to think.

‘What should I do now? ‘Survive,’ I tell myself.

My name is Robert, and I was a high school teacher. I failed a student because she had copied her assignments, and I gave the proof to the principal. The student then accused me of making sexual advances toward her. The failure mark stood, but I was asked to stand down from my position for an investigation of the sexual allegation to go ahead. I was accused of something I did not do.

I panicked when the counselor told me that students had started talking about me. They were spreading gossip. I want to get away. I cleaned out my bank account and packed my survival backpack. I left the gossip behind; I went to the Canadian forest, which has always been my refuge. I want to keep this diary as I wish people would know what was happening to me. The journal writing will also help me clarify what I am feeling.

I broke camp early today as the creek I had found flowed south. I wanted to see if it went into a lake. Tonight, the sky was clear, and the stars were spectacularly bright. The moon has yet to rise. I feel at peace again as I have so many times in the forest. I have not had any nightmares for a week now. The creek was getting more extensive as it flowed through this shallow valley, so I chose to follow it. Many plants on the creek shore were edible. I had a feast of wild strawberries around noon.

I started to follow the stream down the valley. I was walking better now with my new carved support pole, but I was more cautious about where I stepped. That injury was a reminder that I was alone. I was still reflecting that I felt at home in the forest. I learned that during my scouting and university days. I had learned to read animal signs. I sensed the weather. I have an instinct for danger. The stream I was following had started to flow faster. About an hour later, I came to a large lake.

I came to a large outcrop of rock on the shoreline, which caused me to go inland. The forest became denser, with birch and poplar trees scattered among the conifers. I soon made camp as it was getting darker earlier. Trout soup for dinner again while I smoked more fillets. 

I was settling down when I heard a rifle shot close by. My campfire was large tonight as it was colder, so I thought it would be visible from a distance. As I was eating, a voice called out to me, and a man appeared at my campsite.

He was in camouflage gear and carrying a hunting rifle. He was a middle-aged man about six feet tall with a friendly-looking face. I had been hunting myself many times, so I did not feel threatened. I invited him to have a hot cup of soup and asked if he was successful, as I had heard the shot. He said that he missed it as the deer was running. He thanked me for the soup as we exchanged greetings.

‘I am Robert,” I said.

‘I am George.’ He replied.

I asked, ‘Do you come from around here?’

He said, ‘No, but I am staying in a friend’s cabin about five miles west of here on the lakeshore. It is getting dark now. Would you mind if I stayed here tonight? I am tired, and we could go to the cabin together tomorrow?’

I said, ‘You are welcome to stay, and tomorrow we could travel to the cabin together.’

George cut some conifer boughs, unwrapped his sleeping bag, and settled near the campfire.

‘Sleep well, George’

In the morning, I cleaned up my camping area. George and I started walking toward the cabin on the lake. He was leading the way but was also hunting. About one-half hour into our journey, he hand-signaled me to stop. He aimed and shot a young Mule deer. We went to the kill, and I took a picture of George and the deer. We dressed out the carcass, saving the skin, and divided up a load of meat to carry toward the cabin. We arrived at a rustic cabin at about noon after a long five miles through a thick bush with heavy loads. I felt weary during the last part of the journey, but the cabin was a welcome sight even though it was rustic. The log cabin was about five meters square with a high-pitched shingled roof and a stone fireplace chimney at the back. We dumped our packs on the porch. I walked down to the lakeshore and had a look at the surroundings. There was a small outboard boat attached to a mooring post.

The venison George cooked was excellent. George was surprised at how good the roasted roots I had foraged.  While drinking rosehip tea after the roast, we chatted about who we were and the chance to meet in the wilderness. George was a firefighter in the local town and enjoyed hunting every autumn for meat. I said I was a teacher and artist. I did not want to say anything about the events that caused me to be here. I asked George if I could stay in this cabin for a while. He said he did not think his friend would mind if I stayed here as it is rustic.

Before George left, he showed me the beginning of the trail down the lake shore to a trading post. I needed to go there to buy basic supplies so I could stay in the cabin. This cabin was now going to be home. I will be alone. During my first days at the place, I spent most of my time outside. I wandered around the local area looking for plants to forage. I watched for animal signs to see what animals lived nearby.

After two days of preparing traveling food and making the cabin more livable, I plucked up my courage. I started walking along the trail toward the trading post to buy supplies.   I had decided to stay in the cabin over the winter. I had money, as I had cleaned out my bank account before running off to the forest. It could be about a month before winter sets in and the lake freezes. I could get a canoe. It would make it easier to ferry supplies and fish before winter came. 

Whether I want to continue teaching high school at that place is the big question whirling around in my mind sometimes. Taking stock of my profession was stressful now. I enjoyed teaching, and my students liked my lessons. Even if clearing my name after being falsely accused would not make my job possible at that school. Students would remember the event.

The cabin was still warm even though it was almost winter. The slightly modified hearth I had changed for better cooking and heating water was working well. I do not have a thermometer, so I did not know how cold it gets at night. I had been burning many logs at night, so I spent the day replenishing my wood pile supply. It is so peaceful and quiet here, and I enjoy sketching the plants. Snow will be here soon.

In the back corner of the cabin, next to the built-in shelves, was a hessian carpet piece. I spilled water on it today, so I dragged the carpet toward the fireplace to dry out. Under the rug, I found a trap door that opened to a cellar. I lit the kerosene lamp and climbed down the ladder. The underground cellar was about half the size of the cabin, lined with stone walls. Hanging from the floor joists were a pair of cross-country skis and poles. On one wall was a crude shelf with another lamp and a whole can of kerosene. A wooden trunk with two blankets and winter ski gear was on the bottom shelf. What a treasure trove!

I decided to ski down to the trading post, but I needed to build a small sled to tow supplies. I put on my snowshoes, went back to the alder grove, and cut construction branches I brought into the cabin.  The weather decides what I do. I loaded my winter survival pack onto the sled and headed for the trading post area early in the morning.

The trip back to the cabin was long and arduous because of the immense load and my lack of ability to use the skis to pull a sled. I bought three months of food and new art materials. The snow stopped after three hours, so I picked up speed and reached the cabin as it was getting dark. I quickly shifted the materials into the house and lit the fireplace. I had a big dinner and stacked the supplies to rearrange in the morning.

I spent the day preparing ten trout I caught ice fishing. First, after filleting them, I soaked them in salt brine for two hours. I used wood that was low in resin to smoke the fish, so it will not flavor the flesh. I went to the Adler grove again to gather dry wood. The iron mesh that I found works well as a grill plate.  

It had been so quiet out here that any sound instantly aroused my attention. I remember one night when I heard a wolf howl in the distance. Another time, I heard two rifle shots from across the lake. I was painting today when I heard a sound like a tractor. I went to the door to see two Skidoos coming up the lake from the direction of the trading post. They pulled up to the cabin. I had two visitors. I invite them into my cabin for a hot drink.

They introduced themselves. David is a Park Ranger, and Joseph is the man from whom I had bought the canoe. They were on patrol. Joseph said, ‘Well, you look very well set up here. Wow! I am impressed with your artwork.’ Joseph said he knew I was staying here and wanted to check in to see if I was, OK? David said that they would be traveling further up the lake on patrol and would be back in two days. Joseph asked, “Do you need or want anything?

I said, ‘The place is well stocked with staples, but I have not had any fresh meat for two months as I do not have a gun.’ Joseph said he had a rifle with him, so if he saw a small deer, he would shoot it for me.

Joseph and David returned with a small deer. This was a great bonus for me, and I thanked Joseph. He said there would be a party at the Big House on Christmas day, and I was welcome to attend. If I had kept track of the dates, It would be Christmas in a month. I had better practice again with the skis. I want to be able to go down to the trading post. The snow had built up extensively yesterday, so I placed my snowshoes on my backpack. I took the skis outside to practice.  I am slowly improving, so I can go there quickly with a lightly loaded sled. Christmas tomorrow!  I started skiing the twelve miles to the trading post area for the party. I am pulling a relatively light sled with my art carefully packed. I may buy some supplies to bring back. The weather was clear and cold. I was excited to see new people and others I had met before.

On Christmas day, I was reading a book when there was a knock on the door. George and David invited me to the lounge to have Christmas drinks.

 ‘I will buy the first round. What would you like? I said. Whiskey, they both said. I went to the bar and ordered two whiskies and a stout. ‘It’s so great to see you again, George. I thank you for letting me stay in the cabin. It has worked out extremely well.’ ‘David said he visited you, and the wall was covered with artwork; he was impressed. Did you bring any, as he asked?’ ‘Yes, Do you think that I could display them somewhere?’

‘I will ask the owners and organize it.’ said George.

The next day I was hungover since I had not had any alcohol for months. I had breakfast with my friends. As I paid my bill, the owner said she wanted me to leave my art in the front hall and that she would try to sell them for me.

I awoke in the dark from a dream, wondering where I was. I realized that I was still in this little cabin in the forest. There was something new about my thoughts today. When you strip away all your standard cultural inputs, you are left with an opportunity to reflect on yourself. My thoughts are beginning to evolve.  My new year resolve to go back to find out what happened with the investigation of the sexual allegation. I have firmly decided that whatever the outcome, I will not return to teaching at that high school.

Spring is finally gradually happening. The lake is becoming freer of ice. On their way north, a flock of Canadian geese landed on the lakeshore where the stream enters. Today is the day to leave my cabin home. I put on my survival backpack and began to walk down the twelve-mile trail to the trading post area. As I looked back toward the cabin, there were many thoughts and feelings that I will write about later.

Saturday, I boarded the bus at ten in the morning. The trip was going to be about six hours, so I read a book to keep my mind from wandering—the spring countryside flashed by as I read. I started to see familiar scenery, so I knew I was getting close to where it had all begun.

When the School board reconvened their meeting today, I attended. The appointed investigator reported that the student had a difficult upbringing with an alcoholic father with indications of sexual abuse. The student also had accused other men of sexual advances whenever she was in trouble. He reported that I was at another meeting in the city when the student said I had made sexual advances. He noted that the students spoke very highly of Robert, and they respected him. I had no history of sexual misconduct. The school board meeting concluded that no further action would be taken. I was innocent of the allegation. The school principal said that I could have my teaching position back again. I refused the offer, and I resigned from my teaching position. I said to the chair, ‘I would like my stand-down salary payment for the six months that It took your board the reach the decision.’ The school board honored that request.

After the board meeting, I felt that an enormous weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I do not need to clear my name, as no charges have been brought forward. I still have ideas about publishing a book about my yearlong personal journey. I want to pursue my art. Going into the forest, I did the correct thing as it began a personal transformation. The self-imposed isolation in the wilderness with my diary writing reflecting on my unique feelings was positive.