Seems like the weather has improved again. Coolish but clear sky, looks breezy down on the lake.
Yesterday, changed beds from bedroom to bedroom, drained the hottub, replaced 11 light bulbs that were burned out, replaced a carpet. Picked up one kid from daycare and got one visit in with M's Mom.
I'll soon be finished the present story, I had saved it to "dropbox" so am able to access it from here.
But when it's done what do I produce next?
He cut the tree down, trimmed off the branches to within six feet of the top then dragged it back to his camp.
21
A
fter a dinner of more fish, eggs and mushrooms, Nat took out his map. It was weathered and worn, suffering from the treatment and exposure it had been subjected to.
If he was indeed at the confluence of the Liard and the Fort Nelson, then downstream about fifty miles more or less was Fort Liard, the map indicated that it was an Indian reservation and he was guessing the boat that had gone by was heading there. He put the map away.
Next he removed his belt, then unlaced his boots. With one lace and his belt he cinched the branches of the spruce tree oar as tight as he could to the top of the tree, it had some resemblance to a giant paintbrush. Next he found a reasonably flat piece of wood, smoothed it as best he could then carefully scratched the words ‘by raft to Ft Liard Nathaniel Proctor’ . He carried it to the edge of the bush and using the remaining boot lace tied it as high as he could on a small tree. He removed the shirt he was wearing and tied it flag like to the boot lace.
Back at the fire, he stoked it up for the night, packed all his stuff back into the knapsack then crawled into his bed.
He awoke in the middle of the night, stoked the fire again then walked down to the river. It was still rising and had crept several more feet up the beach.
Back in bed, he fell back to sleep fairly quickly but rolled and tossed racked by dreams. He woke early the next morning and as he ate his now familiar fare of eggs and fish, the one recurring dream of a flying white moose and long conversations flickered through his memory. Talking aloud he said, “Good thing you’re getting out of here Nat me boy, I think you’re getting bushed.” Then he chuckled, ‘Talk to yourself too.”
Nat gathered up his knapsack placed all the remaining fish in it, took the cushion and the plastic sheet from his bed, strapped the hatchet on the knife belt then picking up the two spears and his ‘oar’ he walked to his raft.
The first log was fully in the water and the river was lapping at the second. Nat jammed the two spears under the rope that held the net tight, wrapped the knapsack in the plastic sheet and using snare wire fastened the knapsack and plastic tightly to the net. He cut off a short piece of the cord from the cushion and fastening one end to one of the burred pipe ends he wove the remainder in a figure eight back and forth to the other then tied it off, he then slid the ‘oar’ between the pipes and under the cord.
Yesterday, changed beds from bedroom to bedroom, drained the hottub, replaced 11 light bulbs that were burned out, replaced a carpet. Picked up one kid from daycare and got one visit in with M's Mom.
I'll soon be finished the present story, I had saved it to "dropbox" so am able to access it from here.
But when it's done what do I produce next?
He cut the tree down, trimmed off the branches to within six feet of the top then dragged it back to his camp.
21
A
fter a dinner of more fish, eggs and mushrooms, Nat took out his map. It was weathered and worn, suffering from the treatment and exposure it had been subjected to.
If he was indeed at the confluence of the Liard and the Fort Nelson, then downstream about fifty miles more or less was Fort Liard, the map indicated that it was an Indian reservation and he was guessing the boat that had gone by was heading there. He put the map away.
Next he removed his belt, then unlaced his boots. With one lace and his belt he cinched the branches of the spruce tree oar as tight as he could to the top of the tree, it had some resemblance to a giant paintbrush. Next he found a reasonably flat piece of wood, smoothed it as best he could then carefully scratched the words ‘by raft to Ft Liard Nathaniel Proctor’ . He carried it to the edge of the bush and using the remaining boot lace tied it as high as he could on a small tree. He removed the shirt he was wearing and tied it flag like to the boot lace.
Back at the fire, he stoked it up for the night, packed all his stuff back into the knapsack then crawled into his bed.
He awoke in the middle of the night, stoked the fire again then walked down to the river. It was still rising and had crept several more feet up the beach.
Back in bed, he fell back to sleep fairly quickly but rolled and tossed racked by dreams. He woke early the next morning and as he ate his now familiar fare of eggs and fish, the one recurring dream of a flying white moose and long conversations flickered through his memory. Talking aloud he said, “Good thing you’re getting out of here Nat me boy, I think you’re getting bushed.” Then he chuckled, ‘Talk to yourself too.”
Nat gathered up his knapsack placed all the remaining fish in it, took the cushion and the plastic sheet from his bed, strapped the hatchet on the knife belt then picking up the two spears and his ‘oar’ he walked to his raft.
The first log was fully in the water and the river was lapping at the second. Nat jammed the two spears under the rope that held the net tight, wrapped the knapsack in the plastic sheet and using snare wire fastened the knapsack and plastic tightly to the net. He cut off a short piece of the cord from the cushion and fastening one end to one of the burred pipe ends he wove the remainder in a figure eight back and forth to the other then tied it off, he then slid the ‘oar’ between the pipes and under the cord.
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