Part 2

I arrived at camp before dark and had a fire started, the potatoes put over to boil and other preparations for supper under way when Bige came staggering into camp with the hind quarters of a deer wrapped in the skin on his shoulders. Bige had put in a strenuous day, had carried his meat from the valley west of Wild Cat Mountain, a distance of about seven miles and he had a good appetite for supper, which I had ready by the time he had put the venison in the cooler.

The cooler was an empty pork barrel which a year earlier we had procured at a lumber camp several miles down the valley; and which at great expenditure of effort and time we had rolled, tumbled and carried through the woods all the way back to our camp. We had then scrubbed out the barrel, weighted it with stones and in the shade of a clump of balsam trees had sunk it in a deep hole in the brook flowing from our spring so that the water came near its top. On nails inside of the barrel we hung our fresh meat and game, and the icy water from the spring flowing around the barrel kept the contents as hard and fresh as if in a cold-storage warehouse; while a slab of spruce bark with a stone on top formed a cover to keep night prowling flesh-eating neighbors out of our refrigerator.

At the supper table I told Bige about the deer I had seen digging beech nuts, and he said that in dressing out the deer he shot, he found its stomach filled with beech nuts, and that they more nearly resemble buckwheat, than any other food a buck-deer can find in the woods. Long after the first snowfall in the Autumn one can find places where deer have pawed away the snow to dig beech nuts out from under the leaves.

In the middle of the night I was wakened by some unusual noise outside the cabin. Listening intently I heard footsteps softly padding down the path toward the spring brook. Not a breath of air was moving and the silence of the night was noisy and oppressive. Straining my ears I again heard the soft foot falls. Then a sniffing, smelling sound. Later, two bright stars close together appeared through the open doorway about a foot above the sill. Twinkling, shining, expanding, the stars grew into a pair of eyes in the darkness. The owner of the eyes sniffed, then spoke, apparently to his partner outside,--"Uh huh!"--They're here!--"Uh huh! Uh huh!"--Been here before!--They're here again!--"Uh huh!" We keep a pile of dry wood inside the cabin for use in kindling fires on rainy days. From my bunk I reached over, grabbed a stick of wood and flung it through the doorway and the thieving coon in his striped prison garments scuttled away through the bush into the night.

The following morning we found the coon's tracks--they looked as if made by the hand of an infant--in the soft mud near our refrigerator.

After breakfast Bige and I sawed a couple of blocks, each about four feet long, off a spruce log. Then Bige took a pack-basket and went back to Wild Cat Mountain for the forequarters of the deer which he had left hanging in a tree the day before; while I, with an axe and a couple of hard wood wedges (the same tools with which Abe Lincoln, ninety years ago, split rails), proceeded to split the two spruce blocks into thin staves from six to eight inches wide. These I sharpened at one end and drove into the ground on the bank of the stream below the cooler; arranging them as nearly as possible in a circle with the edges touching and making a vertical cylinder about two and a half feet in diameter. I put hoops of osier withes around the tops of the staves and used other slabs of the spruce for a cover. Then I gathered stones and built a fireplace on the gravelly bed near the water. A trench was dug from the fireplace up the sloping bank and under the cylinder of staves. This was covered with flat stones and dirt and it served as a flue to carry smoke from the fireplace by the brook into the smoke-house on the bank. In the smoke-house we hung strips of venison--the venison having first been packed in salt over night. The fire was kept smoldering and smoking by a liberal use of green birch wood. At the end of two days smoking we had on hand a stock of the finest "Jerked Venison" that any hunter ever put into his lunch bag. The smoke of green birch imparts a spicy flavor that is not found in jerked meat cured by the Indian method of drying in the sun.

The Dan'l Boone Cabin was built fifteen years ago, and was located in this particular spot because of a spring of pure cold water which we discovered while on a hunting expedition. It is a long way from any lake but is in the edge of good hunting country. To reach it, from our cottage we went by boat up the lake to the mouth of the river, then proceeded along the river bank past the rapids about two miles to the falls. At the falls the township line crosses the river, and we followed it through the woods up over the top of the mountain and down to one of the foot hills on the opposite slope.

The township line was marked through the woods by four blazes on each tree, placed in the form of a diamond, a chip being cut out at each angles of the diamond. The line was practically straight and was not difficult to follow, except that it led up the steepest part of the mountain and over the highest ridge. In places one had to crawl on hands and knees and hang onto roots and bushes to avoid sliding back. We had to climb just the same, both going and coming and with a heavy pack on one's back it was rather strenuous, and there were about four miles of the line that we used.

I felt confident that a better route could be found to the camp and Bige and I often discussed the matter but we continued to use the township line through the first season. One day during the second summer of our tenancy, while Bige was busy with some other chore, I took an axe and started out from camp, determined to mark a new and better trail out of the woods.

There was a steep rocky ledge or rather a succession of ledges, leading to the mountain top and I reasoned that if I kept to the left and below these ledges I should pass over the shoulder of the mountain thus avoiding the high ridge and steep part of our old trail. Then, after passing the rocky ledges I knew that if I continued on down hill I should, sooner or later, reach water; either the river or the lake. This was such a simple proposition that I should not need my compass so left it in camp.

In marking an ordinary trail through the woods a chip is cut out of a tree so as to expose the white wood under the bark, this we call a "blaze" and it is usually placed about five feet above the ground which brings the mark as nearly as possible on the line of vision. It also is high enough to be seen above the deep snows of winter. The distance between blazed trees depends upon the density of the forest, but in passing one mark the next one should always be in view. Also the trees should be marked on both sides so that the trail may be followed in both directions. A blaze on a soft wood tree, a pine, spruce, hemlock or balsam will remain white and visible longer than one made on a hardwood tree. The exposed wood of a beech, birch or maple becomes stained and browned in a few months and is not distinctly visible on a dark day; so we always mark the soft woods when possible.

It was my purpose to first go through and mark out the new route, then, later with Bige's help cut the brush and clear fallen wood out of the path.

I made rapid progress, keeping the rocky ledges always in sight in the distance, but working well below and to the left of them. After about two hours work I crossed a line of old markings on the trees that looked strangely like the township line, but I knew it was not possible that it could be, as the township line was more than a half mile to the south of where I stood and moreover, it ran in a different direction. This must be a boundary line of the lumber company's property. So I continued on with my job of marking trees.

After another hour it occurred to me that it took a long time for me to get past the ledges of rock that pointed up to the ridge of the mountain top. I ought surely, by this time, to be going down hill toward the river. So I stopped work to study the forestscape. There were the ledges in the distance on my right and the forest floor sloping gently to the left. There were the undisturbed, primeval forest trees with their tops a hundred or more feet above, branches interlaced and shutting out a view even of the clouds which now obscured the sun. There was very little underbrush and this suggested the thought that the task of clearing the path would be easy. Everything was as it should be, so I continued cutting chips out of trees on my new route.

A few minutes later I crossed another line of old blazes very like the one I had crossed an hour ago. This I decided was the other side of the lumber lot. In another quarter hour I met a third line of blazed trees. But this time the marks were fresh, there was only one blaze on each side of a tree and there were fresh chips on the ground under them. This was most extraordinary. I could not conceive of any reason for any other person marking a trail in those woods, unless, possibly a surveyor might be at work there, but I had not met a surveyor in the woods since the Government Maps were made several years ago.

I determined to investigate, so struck my axe into a tree, left it there and started down this new trail to find the fellow who was making it. Broken ferns, trampled moss and bent bushes indicated that it had been made very recently and I might overtake the trail maker if I hurried up. So I stumbled along as fast as possible.

In about twenty minutes I saw an axe sticking in a blazed tree. The owner of that axe must be somewhere near and I looked around for him. Not finding him within range of vision I examined the axe. It was mine! There was a nick in the helve that I had put there myself. But how the dickens did it get here? Was it possible that Bige? Yes, we had two axes in camp. No, that was the same axe I had taken out that morning. Its weight and shape suited me better than the other and so I had marked the handle.

Puzzling over the mysterious situation, I continued explorations. Leaving the axe sticking in the tree trunk, I started to climb over the rocks up the steep mountain side. In due time I reached the top and found the township line which I had many times followed over the ridge. I then proceeded along the ridge toward the south, but it ceased to be a ridge after a few rods and I soon climbed down steep rocky ledges till I met a new blazed trail. Then I went back up the mountain and followed the township line down the steep part and met another new blazed trail. Then I followed this new blazed trail until I crossed the township line again and a few rods further on I came back to the axe sticking in the tree.

At this point in the game I peeled a piece of birch bark, sat down and with a stub of pencil made a diagram of the mountain and the various trails I had made and met during the day.

This was the northeastern end of the mountain which Bige and all the other guides for many years had known to be a crescent shaped ridge. They also had known that the ridge, following its curve was about three miles long. My discovery consisted in learning that this end of the mountain was a rocky cone-shaped peak and about three hundred feet higher than the top of the ridge. Also that during an entire Summer we had been climbing over this peak on the township line and had thereby wasted many thousands of foot-pounds of energy.

By keeping the rocky ledges in view in laying out my new route, I had made a complete circle around the mountain peak, had twice crossed the township line and intersected my own trail at the end of the loop.

I reached camp about the time Bige had supper ready. At the table I told him about my new route to the river. "Sufferin Mike! well, by Gosh! Ha-ha-ha" spoke Bige. "The next time you lay out a trail, you take a compass along, and no matter how sure you may be that the compass is wrong, you go where the compass points. Many a man has been lost in the woods by refusing to be guided by his compass and using his own judgment instead."

The following day, I went down to the lake and from the boat out in the middle of the lake I sighted across my compass over the shoulder of the mountain and determined that I should start from the shore of the lake, instead of the river, follow a course toward 280 degrees while the needle was at zero, till I reached the crest of the shoulder, and then swing toward 270 degrees. This proved to be the correct theory and in the course of time my three mile trail ended within ten rods of the cabin. This saved us a walk of two miles up the river bank and a boat ride of more than half a mile on the lake, besides cutting out a steep climb where the grade, in the opinion of one of our guests, was "ninety-five per cent."

This trail making incident occurred fourteen years ago. It serves to indicate how easy it is for one to go astray in a large forest. I have since blazed many trails in the woods. I have also, many times been misplaced in the forest while hunting or exploring and am always on such occasions reminded of Bige's advice to "never argue with your compass while in the woods." Whenever my compass tells me that camp is in a direction opposite to that which reason and memory and the lay of the land indicates, my practice is to sit down on a log, lay the compass on the log, stand the gun up against a tree far enough away so the steel of its barrel will not influence the compass needle and try to arrange in mind the topography of the country I am in. After a reasonable rest I am always willing to follow the pointing of the compass at least for a limited distance.

The first impulse of one who thinks he is lost in the forest is that of haste. One is always in a desperate hurry to get somewhere quick. If this impulse is obeyed and the now alarmed traveler rushes off at headlong speed, the danger is, not only that of going in the wrong direction, but in nine cases out of ten, the victim travels in circles. The psychology of deliberation is like first aid to the injured and the victim soon begins to realize that he is not really lost. He is only temporarily mislaid and will soon pull himself out and locate some familiar landmark.

The "Davy Crockett Camp" we built on a narrow shelf on a steep hillside. It overlooked "Muskrat City" which lay in the valley directly in front and below our open "lean-to." We were well pleased with the result of our efforts in the construction of this forest boarding house. It had a fireplace in front for heating the camp and a cooking fireplace at one side. This arrangement kept the cooking odors out of our camp blankets and clothing. We also had a dining table and a kitchen table, both made of split logs. The water was good and the entire outfit comfortable. Moreover, we generally had good luck in hunting while there.

The best way to reach Davy Crockett's was to go up the river about seven miles, then take the "Elk Pond Tote Road" back through the woods five miles to Muskrat City. We also sometimes used another route which was shorter but more difficult. This was by way of Dan'l Boone's; from which point we had cut a trail down the valley and over the western end of Crescent Mountain.

Several times I tried to get a photograph of the Crockett Camp. Because of its location I could get no standing room for a front view. If the camera was placed up the hill back of the camp the picture would show only the roof. One day I climbed a tree with the camera and took a snap shot at the side. The artist spoiled this film in developing. The following winter, six feet of snow broke down the roof and in a wind storm a large tree fell across it and smashed the shack. It was not rebuilt and I never got a picture of the Davy Crockett Camp.