As I had dreaded, the adventure began with a trip to the outhouse. I assure you the story antics will pick up as we go; tales of bears and wolves and wild night treks are to follow. Am I exaggerating? Only time will tell. For now, the outhouse.
If you’ve never used an outhouse in the dead of winter, it’s an experience to at least hear about if not try for yourself. Quite simply, snow has a way of getting into every crevice, corner, and dry space that you wish snow would not be. I’ll leave you to your imagination for a moment before I suggest a toilet seat. Although I should be grateful for the mere luxury of a toilet seat, its ability to numb my backside in under ten seconds left me want for stronger squatting muscles. Needless to say that the roof, a slab of corrugated metal siding atop four bar board walls, offered limited shelter from the elements. Not the most romantic introduction but there you have it. For lack of a more eloquent segue, we then went to discover our cabin.
Set back some hundred metres into the wooded overgrowth beyond where we parked our car lay a shotgun style cabin - one long room with a loft accessed by a ladder in the center. Already being twelve kilometres from the nearest country store - a family home selling gas and hunting supplies - and another twenty minutes drive to the nearest iteration of a town, we were truly secluded.
The promise of three solar powered bulbs inside the cabin was our only source of light besides the wood stove and the lantern we had brought with us. We surveyed the solar panel system with pessimistic anticipation, worried that the day’s storm had left little to no chance for the panels to soak up any natural daylight. Best to get the stove going quickly. When in doubt, trust that nature will do what nature has always done. A fire always works, providing consistent light and warmth. There is certainty in that.
Featured in this Journal Entry
Black Longford Ribbed Toque, Black Scoop Pullover, Charcoal Mitts, Grey Drummond Blanket.