In September 1969, Dick and I
began our year on Tucker Lake.
Our cabin had neither road access
nor amenities. This reprint of one
of many stories about our lives
during that special year is based
on an old letter I wrote to my
parents.
The Letter:
The letter is dated April 25, 1970. “We are back in the old rut again; outdoor plumbing, no television and no running water unless I run while carrying it.”
By Land or by Sea?
We pulled off the Gunflint Trail and stepped out of the car. The Minneapolis trip had been busy and productive. Our ‘68 Bronco was filled with family castaway furniture including an old blue ceramic clock and a metal locker/cabinet. We were hoping that Tucker Lake’s ice was still good since we planned to bring the furniture to the cabin via snowmobile and sled. Now we wondered if that was wise. The weather had been warm during our entire tenday absence. Would the lake ice still be safe? We didn’t know. We were inexperienced in the ways of spring break-up.
Dick and I decided to be cautious and walk to the cabin,
oin us at our avor f the ye r: check the actual thickness of
the ice and then decide whether or not to use the snowmobile the next day. We hoisted food packs and snowshoes on our backs, released Nooky, the malamute, from her leash and took off down the path.
Different Aprils
April on the Gunflint Trail was nothing like April in the Twin Cities where trees and grass were turning green. I trudged through the woods, marveling at the difference. The signs of spring in the northland are quiet and subtle. I noticed swelling pussy willow buds and listened to the music of melting water. The forest floor was almost bare, but thick patches of snow still filled shaded hollows. Yet, the April sun was warm, the sky a clear blue, and the air subtly scented with running sap and green plants waiting to sprout.
I was surprised at the sight of brown and orange butterflies hovering above the unmelted snow. I’d never seen butterflies and snow at the same time.
Back in her Element:
t
Nooky was back in the
woods—her element and the happiest dog in the world. She romped endlessly across our path, running briefly down deer trails but returning quickly. After one short jaunt into the woods, she approached me, smiling.
“Phew!” I looked at the brown substance smeared on her face. She had rolled in deer droppings again. I told Dick. ”Look at her face.” She resembled a woman with runny mascara. “Yuk,” I told her. “Stay away from me.” Quite happily, she trotted into the woods.
We walked our usual path, heading straight south from the Trail, turning left and eventually veering straight till we crossed the Tucker River. On the final stretch between the spruce swamp and the cabin, we heard the roar of a snowmobile out on Tucker Lake.
Snowmobile in the
Distance:
“Good sign,” Dick said. “That means the lake ice is okay.” Even though I was in much better shape than last autumn at freeze-up time, I was happy that tomorrow we’d be able to transport our “stuff” by snowmobile and sled. When I spotted the cabin roof through the trees I felt a surge of happiness. It was truly beginning to feel like my home.
As I climbed the stairs to the cabin door, Dick walked out on the lake. A fresh snowmobile track led past our place and disappeared around the bend. No question. The ice was good enough for the time being. Great! We could move our “new” furniture in place tomorrow, and I was looking forward to some serious “interior decorating” miracles.
Nooky contributed an extra bonus to the day. Being a very curious animal, she spent a lot of time poking her nose in snowdrifts, sniffing for mice and other scents and by the time evening arrived, had completely cleaned her face.
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