Alone in a Cabin for the Winter

By Frank Reliance

I’d never spent a winter in this tiny cabin, hundreds of miles away from anyone, where no roads went. I had a lot of learning to do to survive and fast! The only way back home is the bush plane scheduled to pick me up in the spring or a death-march through the frigid woods for days. What was I thinking in coming here? If anything goes wrong I’ll die alone in the bush, frozen before anyone can find me...

The story of a man who needs a break in his life and decides to spend the winter at a very isolated cabin alone and what he has to do to survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frank Reliance
• Release date: Mar 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507030066

Book preview

Alone In A Cabin For The Winter

By Frank Reliance

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I’d never spent a winter in this tiny cabin, hundreds of miles away from anyone, where no roads went. I had a lot of learning to do to survive and fast! The only way back home is the bush plane scheduled to pick me up in the spring or a death-march through the frigid woods for days. What was I thinking in coming here? If anything goes wrong I’ll die alone in the bush, frozen before anyone can find me...

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Copyright ©2015 by Frank Reliance, all rights reserved.

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To be added to the new releases mailing list or for correspondence: [e-mail]

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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, place, or event is coincidental and not intended.

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The author gratefully acknowledges James Wesley, Rawles (JWR) and contributors to his site SurvivalBlog (www.SurvivalBlog.com) for providing real-life accounts of survival, which were an inspiration for this fictional story. Thank you, and God bless.

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1.

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The temperature on the thermometer outside reads -13 °F/-25 °C. I don't want to go out there. I let the thin, white curtain drop back into place. The bright sun is breaking past the clouds just after dawn, reflecting off the deep snow and coming in through the windows of the cabin. The thin curtain does little to stop the glare and it hurts my eyes.

But it's too cold in the cabin to linger long. I have to get the fire going again. Then I'll have breakfast from the meager supplies in this shack, get dressed up warmly and then go out into the cold. I've got traps to check and water to fetch.

How did I get myself into this situation, living alone in a hunter's cabin in the woods hundreds of miles away from anyone for a whole winter, with only the things I had brought with me?

All too easily...

It seemed like a good idea at the time—and if those are not famous last words, I don't know what are! I had just gotten out of my first year of university, and I hadn't liked it much. I guess I was what you'd call a bit of an idealist, or maybe I was just a naive suburbatron stumbling around, waking up fitfully from my good but sheltered upbringing, finding out what life was really about the hard way.

I didn't think I'd go back to university or complete my degree (a BA in the arts, what was I going to do with that? Teach? Naw!). I'd rather have a diploma from the School of Hard Knocks anyway, I'd decided. All this after my first year at the huge university where I had been assigned a number and I felt like one.

One of my classes had hundreds of students in it, and we filled the huge lecture hall that must have sat five hundred! Way down at the bottom of the sloping room, the tiny figure in front of the class was our teacher. Wow, I was so glad I came to school to pay a lot of money to be treated like a nobody and be taught by a little ant!

Soon, I found out that most of the students didn't give a damn about learning anything, that they were mostly there because their parents pushed them into it, and they needed that degree, that piece of paper that was supposed to mystically secure their futures. They were there for the wrong reasons, as far as I was concerned. I was there to learn more about English and writing, and to see what this higher education thing was all about.

With few exceptions, maybe a class here and there, and some chance conversations with the odd decent teacher and fellow students, I felt it was all a big joke, a big waste. About the only thing higher about it was the tuition. I started spending time at the campus pub that catered to artists (there were two pubs on campus, if you can believe that!), and that was more stimulating than most of my classes were, as I got into some good discussions there. I participated in some clubs and groups on campus, and I got more out of those free things than the supposed education my parents were paying for. That was about the time I started to think I was in the wrong place.

I had been pushed into university by my parents too, as it was just the given thing to do, but I did have a passion for English, art, and writing. I had actually intended to make my time at university useful. That hope was severely dampened after my first year grind. After that, I wanted to take some time off to think about my future and what I wanted to do with my life. That's when the idea came to me about the cabin.

A distant relative had passed away, a freaky, old woodsman uncle of mine named Sam who had liked to spend a lot of time alone hunting, trapping, and fishing. He mostly lived on a farm at the far edges of a small town, his nearest neighbors several miles away. But even that was not isolated enough for Sam at times, and he would take off to a remote hunter's cabin that was only accessible by seaplane, unless you wanted to hike in for 2 weeks.

There were no roads to the cabin and it was the ultimate wilderness survival retreat, not for the weak or timid. It was a rustic, small cabin with no running water, a big wood stove in the middle of the single room, a small bed, a tiny kitchen, a table, and a chair—that was it! There was a small porch out front with beautiful views of God's sunset paintings and sunrises each day. Sam would show me photos from the cabin from time to time, encouraging me to come with him one day.

That day never came because I was always too busy or thought Sam too strange, so I never went with him to the cabin. But he told me about it every time the holidays came along and I saw him at the family Christmas dinner. I liked listening to his vivid tales of self-reliance, daring, and survival. I was a writer (or was aspiring to be) and made mental notes about his tales of confrontations with bears, mountain lions, and nearly falling through thin ice, all while isolated and alone at the cabin.

I often asked him: Why do you do it? Why do you go there to rough it all by yourself? Many were the times he could have died out there in the wilderness, and no one would have found his body for a long time, assuming animals didn't eat it first. I was a teenager at the time and mesmerized by the city, living for the crazy adventures I had there when I was not in class or working. I couldn't imagine that anything much exciting was going on to hold my interest at a remote cabin.

Being eaten by animals after I'm gone would be fine by me, Sam would say, his belly full of Christmas turkey. He had pushed his chair back and was enjoying some coffee while dessert was being served after Christmas dinner with our small family. He continued as we listened in rapt attention to his tales of adventure and survival, Nature and the animals have given so much to me, I figure it's time I gave something back to them, one day. I bet I'll make good fertilizer, or a meal or two for some critters! He smiled and pulled on his long, scraggy grey beard, his blue eyes still twinkling with the spark of youth well into his seventies. We laughed, thinking him a bit strange, but he also made sense, at least to me.

You see, son, he put his hand on my shoulder, when I go out there to the cabin, I don't have to deal with anyone else but me and Nature. It's quiet out there, and peaceful, and still; also brutal. There's no room for mistakes or pity. It's as real as it gets and honest, too. The stars are clear and the air is clean. The water tastes good and there's no one honking their horn! We both laughed over this, as some of the country kids had a habit of honking their horns as they drove past Sam's farm, and he'd taken to mounting a big air horn on his front porch to blast them with in retaliation.

But you live on a farm. You barely see anyone as it is, I said.

It's not the same, he shook his head. "Some sonabitch could walk up to my door anytime. Not out at the cabin—you've got to work to get out there! A man has got to want to be out that far into the wilderness, and thankfully there is still a lot of it left, if you're willing to make the effort to get to it. There ain't much reason for anyone to be out there unless they want solitude and tranquility. You won't find too many money grubbers out near the cabin! he grinned. They wouldn't last long there, anyway, I'm pretty sure." Sam let his words sink in.

I watched my mom bring out the coffee. My dad was sitting there, almost nodding off, sleepy with the turkey. My sister had abandoned the table to go and call one of her tween girlfriends. My gran sat there and clucked at the wild man old Sam.

It's so far out, though, I protested. "Don't you worry that something might happen to you? I mean, you're not as young as