Archives is a collection of stories deep
from the cabin logs, specific subject
matters, and or other stuff deemed
worthy to review...
The Day of Six Wolves
Actual cabin log 1989, secret hunting stuff blackened out
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1st Buck at Buck Mountain Chateau
1989
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Weird Animals
1991
Testing the New Meat Pole
2005
I was laughing so
hard at brother John
yelling, "Bring me
down. Bring me
down!" the camera
lens fogged up.
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Firewood
Eight pallets is about 2 years
worth of burning
Hollow tree filled with mice
Only one mouse died
Birch on MV7
Splitting some really
huge poplar
The monster maul
Wood Kennel
Glass plate wood stove door
Mini-oven and hot water above
Night fire
Enjoying the mood of fire
The wood stove is the heart of the cabin. We primarily burn poplar wood with an occasional birch
thrown in. We burn approximately 5-8 trees a year. It's best to allow wood to season for 2 years.
Each piece gets handled by myself several times and when I put it in the wood stove I can sometimes
actually remember a unique piece, and when I split it. Except for only one year since 1989 all
firewood has been split by hand with a monster maul. The maul is impervious to damage unlike the
axe. The above maul has been here from the beginning.

In the spring of 2003 Corky let me use his gasoline powered wood spliter. (I got behind in the wood
due to a career change and dropping from five weeks of vacation to zero weeks of vacation). The
amount of work Corky's spliter did was amazing but I'll never buy one, due to the cost and limited
time(s) we'd use it. I could see renting one for 24 hours though.

An interesting but horrible thought with the wood pile is when I remove the tarp in the fall I find a
dozen snakes have been shedding their skin up on the very top of the wood pile. Two theory's I have
is the tarp itself may assist in the removing of their skin via friction, and or the humidity from the
drying wood is what they desire or need to shed skin with. I hate snakes. Something about the very
sight of them is hideous. If I ever find one in the shack I will probably freak with the shotgun and
blow numerous holes in the walls to kill it. My brother John and I came upon a sex orgy of snakes
down by the Split Rock river one time. There must of been over 100 of them in a giant interwoven
orgy pile. I had the Law-12 assault shotgun in my hands. Why I never unloaded with the nine rounds
of #6 bird shot is a mystery. I just stood there with my mouth open in horror.

If the stove above appears small it is...but I hate being over heated with wood. A couple of years ago
it got down below -20 degrees one night. I keep a thermometer on the interior cabin wall one foot
away from my head in the bunk room. It gives an accurate reading there as far as sleeping conditions.
When I woke up and looked at the inside cabin temperature it was reading -4 degrees. I suppose it
wouldn't hurt to insulate the shack a little.
Eating Burnt Deer Liver Cooked Over an Open Fire
(Include's how Jimbo got lost in the woods and ran in a circle fully panicked
while Brett watched not knowing who the heck it was or what was wrong)
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Brett and I picked up Jimbo after work. We were smoking cigars and in high spirits. It was the night
before the deer opener and we had the weekend off to hunt deer. Jimbo's wife was crying. Jimbo and
his wife had never been separated overnight in the two years of their marriage. Even when their son
had been born the year before Jimbo slept in the hospital room with his wife until she came home.
Their relationship was tethered more than some due to the fact Jimbo had almost died after they had
become engaged. An industrial accident at work had blown him through a wall and left him in a two
week coma. His fiancé (soon to be wife) was at the hospital nonstop and never left his side during his
coma. They had been high school sweethearts and were deeply in love with each other. It was
sickening.

With the cheap stinky cigar dangling out of my mouth I walked up to Jimbo's wife who stood crying
on the curbside. I put one hand on her shoulder and removed the cigar out of mouth blowing a puff of
cigar smoke her way, "We'll take care of him little lady." She looked at me with tears in her eyes,
turned and ran back into the house.  Jimbo followed her as we threw his stuff into the vehicle. We
unzipped his gun case to admire the new Marlin .444 caliber lever action he had just purchased for his
first deer hunt. Ten minutes later he emerged trying to cover up the fact he had been crying too. I
almost vomited.

Six hours and two hundred miles later we had finally hauled our last load into the "Sve" cabin
(Ragsvold Sve had let us use his hunting cabin south of the Split Rock River. It is approximately 2.5
miles south of Buck Mountain Chateau cabin) "Well boys." I barked, "Time to go out and make
Jimbo's tree stand." It was 1 o'clock in the morning. None of us could sleep anyway. Brett and I had
the
blood fever ("Plak Tow" for those familiar with Star Treks Mr Spock ) and Jimbo...well you
know where Jimbo's head was at.

An hour later I was lost trying to find my way back to the Split Rock River for my bearings. Jimbo
asked me, "Do you know where we are?" "Oh yaaa," I responded, "I'm looking at buck sign. Looks
like we got a really big boy working this area. I pointed at some old dry 3 month old deer droppings
on the ground. "See. Must be a 200 pounder!" Jimbo looked at the ground and nodded his head. Brett
didn't say a word. He wasn't sure where we were either but didn't let on.

I finally got my bearings straight and actually ended up in the area I had wanted to build Jimbo's deer
stand. He would be in between Brett and my tree stand, west of the cedar swamp. We would have
about 250 yards between us which I thought was plenty until years later Brett sat by me and I could
hear him coughing. He never did believe me when I told him, "Dude, I can hear you coughing." He
had a very distinct loud cough which irritated me because it seemed more of a habit than an actual
need to cough.

We were back at the cabin at 4 a.m. and Brett and I decided to lay down for an hour for a quick
power nap. Jimbo sat at the table reading his bible, praying for his wife and son no doubt. As I drifted
off to sleep I dreamed of a monster 10 point buck coming by my deer stand and stopping broadside. I
raised the rifle, centering on his lungs, and began the squeeze on the trigger. The gun failed to go off
no matter how hard I squeezed the trigger and the alarm clock went off bringing me out of the
nightmare.

Thirty minutes later with bacon, eggs, and coffee just about ready even Jimbo seemed excited and
had momentarily forgotten about home. With our stomachs full and bodies pumped with caffeine we
arrived at Brett's portable tree stand site and dropped him off. He proceeded to climb very high up to
30' which gave him an excellent vantage point to watch the show which was soon to begin. I
amazingly found Jimbo's new stand and dropped him off saying, "What ever you do Jimbo don't
leave the stand. I'll be back at noon to pick you up and we'll go in for lunch." I don't know why I said
it because I had no intention of stopping back and picking up Jimbo. He was on his own. He had a
compass and a topographical map of the area...we all did. He was fine.

Thirty minutes after legal shooting hours, sweating and swearing profusely I finally stumbled across
my own stand and two hours after that I woke up having heard a noise. I slowly scanned ahead and
saw the buck meandering slowly my way, stopping to look ahead and smell the air. He was about 35
yards out when I fired and he didn't go far. My hunt was over and now it was time for the long drag
out. I gutted him and put the liver and heart in plastic bags. I began to drag trying to skirt to the west
of Jimbo's area. I wasn't using the compass but rather dead reckoning. Half an hour later I was
disoriented and walked ahead 50 yards to try and figure out where I was. I heard Jimbo yell my name
and thought, "Aw crap. Blundered right into his area." Jimbo jumped down the 8 feet off the tree
stand which later I recalled as unusual and came running up to me all excited and genuinely happy to
see me. I would have been pissed.

"Oh gee Jimbo sorry guy. I thought I was farther west of you. I'm dragging a buck out. Hey go on
back to hunting I'll skirt way around you." I apologized. Jimbo just stood there with this big happy to
see you dog grin on his face looking like he was going to hug me.  "You got a deer? Where is it?" He
asked. "Yaa, yaa, I got one about 50 yard back there. Really Jimbo just go back to hunting I'll drag
him out." I apologized again, but Jimbo obviously wanted nothing more to do with hunting and
wanted to see my deer, and insisted on helping me drag it out despite my trying to persuade him
otherwise. Many months later Jimbo would confess what had transpired in the woods. It had been
quite traumatic for poor Jimbo. He even sold his gun vowing to never hunt again. (What irks me is I
would have bought it. At a discount of course seeing as he was desperate and all to rid himself of the
horrible experience)

At high noon Jimbo and I were at the bottom of a steep valley which provided run off water for the
Split Rock River. I was starved and weak. I told Jimbo I had to rest. I gathered wood and Jimbo
watched me start a fire. I dug out the deer liver and cut a half inch slice off about the size of my hand.
I put it on a forked stick and put it over the flames of the fire. Jimbo watched in utter amazement.
The yellow bile of the liver mixed and bubbled out with the blood as it slowly cooked. It was
disgusting looking. Jimbo looked at me and asked? "Are you going to eat that?" "Yes." I responded, "I
didn't bring a lunch." Jimbo watched me gag down the first piece. I had to burn it on the outside in
order to make the inside palpable. Even then it was horrible to eat. I couldn't get the wretched taste of
the bile off my tongue the rest of the day. I finished the 2nd big piece and lay back on the ground
trying not to vomit it back up. Jimbo seeing that the show was over began to rustle in his pack which I
hadn't really noticed until then. To my astonishment he pulled out two sandwiches and an apple. He
looks over at me and genuinely asked, "Do you want one?"

"No. I'm good." I said. I looked around to see if my rifle was within reach and if it was Jimbo was
going down! It was out of reach. Just at that moment I heard an ATV coming down the main trail
which lead to another cabin. I ran to the top of the hill and flagged down the driver. Indeed he was
from the other cabin and heading back down to the trucks. I asked him if he would haul my buck
down to the trail that cut off to the Sve cabin and gave him $10.00 for his troubles. It saved Jimbo
and me the tough drag up the hill and the mile we had left to go. It also probably saved Jimbo from
the sandwich stunt he pulled.

Back at the cabin I was dead meat. I lay down and didn't wake up until sundown when Brett came
back in skunked. He talked about seeing some guy running through the woods about 8 a.m. but didn't
know if he was chasing a deer or what. I didn't think anything about it and Jimbo just sat there silent
as he read his bible. We ate supper and hit the sack for much needed sleep.

At 4 a.m. the alarm went off. Brett wanted to get an earlier jump to his tree stand. In short order we
had bacon, eggs and coffee going again but Jimbo lay in his sleeping bag not moving. Finally I yelled,
"Hey Jimbo. Time to get up buddy. We got to get out there." Jimbo didn't move but slowly said,
"You know, I think I'm just going to stay in the cabin and read my bible this morning and maybe go
out later around the cabin." Brett and I stopped and looked hard at one another. I raised my eyebrows
to Brett. "OK...yaaa sure Jimbo. We'll stop back in at lunch and maybe you can come out for the
sundown hunt. Sometimes that's the best anyway." Something was wrong but I just thought he was
homesick.

We came back in for lunch and Jimbo was sitting about 50 yards from the cabin on a stump within
plain view of the cabin.  Brett and I had seen nothing and heard very few shots. Jimbo again declined
to come back out to his stand for the sundown hunt and about 7 p.m. we were on the road home. We
dropped off Jimbo to his again crying wife who was now holding their infant son in her arms. He
grabbed her like a soldier that had been away at war for a year. I looked away disgusted. It was
ruining the macho mood I was in with my deer strapped to the top of the vehicle.

The next spring Jimbo confessed to Brett what had happened. Despite me telling him to stay in the
tree stand Jimbo had gotten down and started wandering. He took the gradual slope down into the
cedar swamp and it was dark, wet, and tangled in there.  He took out his map and compass. It was
pointing North but Jimbo was certain North was not the direction the compass was showing. It was
heavily overcast. There was no sun to verify his theory. Jimbo thought he must of broke the compass
somewhere along the line (actually the compass worked fine). He began to panic. He was running. He
came back out of the cedar swamp and kept running. Brett saw him running but because of the
distance didn't recognize him nor did Jimbo see Brett way up 30' in the air. Jimbo eventually ran in a
circle and found his stand again. I blundered through a half hour later. Jimbo admitted to Brett he had
been in a full blown panic and thought he would never see his wife and child again. He had never
been that scared in his life.

To my knowledge Jimbo never went hunting again. Like I say he sold his gun without telling me or
Brett until after the fact. His wife always gave me dirty looks too. Like I had something to do with his
getting lost in the woods and her almost never seeing him again. That I added to it in any way!! Go
figure!!
Jimbo
Killer
Brett
November 1989 and 1st buck taken at Buck Mountain Chateau
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Two of my fav fire pic's
Click for super blow up