In
those early years, the log I kept in the cheap spiral-bound notebooks we were
issued (I have about 30 of them) was rather mundane—intended mostly as a report
of work accomplishments to keep my supervisor, Lorenzo, well informed. It was
some while before I began to use it as a vehicle for describing “ranger life.”
So my early entries are mostly uninspiring but these, at least, give some taste
of life as a still-fairly-green wilderness
ranger. (I was months shy of 30 years old.) These notes record my first days as
Piute ranger—the dream job. This, then, was the beginning of 16 seasons I’d
spend stationed at the cabin in Upper Piute Meadows. Several weeks prior to my showing up
for work, a backpacker had stopped by the ranger station in Bridgeport to
report that a bear had clawed a hole through the roof and entered the cabin. So,
after my arrival, I learned I’d inherited a station that had been ransacked. Lorenzo
sent me back to assess damages.
17 May
(Tue) Back to work! Start of my sixth
season in Bridgeport, fourth as a ranger. The inevitable paper-signing in the
morning…proof of citizenship, pledge of allegiance, (swearing under oath I
won’t start any revolutions), et cetera. Got my keys. Packed up stuff for an
overnighter and without further ado…headed for Piute! A most pleasant
alternative to the usual first-day nonsense. ◦◦◦◦◦ Strode right along. Ah,
springtime! Never seen this country ‘cept in August or September. Everything so
green. Rocked the trail and picked up
trash bits. Made it to the cabin in a bit less than four hours. ◦◦◦◦◦ And what
a sight! In a nutshell, looked like it had sustained severe hurricane damage: 2’
x 3’ hole in the roof, below the crest on the west end. Bear apparently just
hiked up the wind-drifted snowpack to get up there in the first place. Everything
on the porch turvy-topsy. Grain bin lid damaged. Shingles strewn about. Inside:
floor completely covered with carnage. (I had to muscle my way through the
door.) Mattresses all over; plates, bowls, and pans strewn about. Every bit of
food at least sampled and all food containers opened, chewed-on, and discarded.
Broken jars. Doors ripped off of tall cabinet but not the short one. A single
mattress left on top of the new table which, thankfully, was unscathed. [When
the cabin was closed in the fall, mattresses got stacked on this table to
prevent mice from harvesting their stuffing for nest-material.] Woodpile strewn
about. With all the scattered food remnants, mice had done quite well—nests on
each windowsill…their little turds everywhere.
And speaking of turds: Ursa left
a big ol’ wet crap—now moldy—on my bedstead. (I think there’d been several
visits, seeing as how the place had been so thoroughly gone over.)
Everything—and I mean everything!—had
been bit-into and slobbered-on. There were empty propane bottles [stove fuel]
and cans of Scarlex® [pressurized aerosol “scarlet oil,” the equine version of
Bactine] with tooth-punctures. Permanent red stains on the floor. (Wonder what
my visitor thought when he/she chomped into those?!)
Mustard and bacon grease on the mattresses. Ick. Corn oil slicks and flour encrustations
on the floor. A royal mess, in a word. ◦◦◦◦◦ Slept out on the porch after my
usual first-night steak barbeque.
18 May
(Wed) Surveyed the damage in some
detail. Measured for materials, listed needs plus clean-up supplies and tools.
Packed my meager sack and walked out. Seeing as how I had the free’n’easy light
load and was afoot, decided to walk at least part way out on the west side of the river. Surprises
all the way, starting with a cliffy gorge less than a quarter mile below the
cabin—had no idea! [The last mile of trail to Piute Meadows didn’t follow the
river.] Some rough bushwhacking and a few snowfields to cross, then followed
old (abandoned) trails ‘til I ran into the Fremont Lake trail…then the roughs
[“western” term for a trail that goes through a constricted gorge], which was
very interesting—completely WILD wilderness right along the edge of the roaring
river through that narrow glacier-carved defile but with the trail—right
there!—on the other side, only yards away. Crossed back over using that handy fallen
log at the Hidden Lake junction (woulda been hard to cross, otherwise) and
strolled on out. This trip took over six
hours.
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22 May
(Sun) Martin [personal friend and
fellow-ranger] and I packed up for four nights in the Piute—we fix! Into town
for the stock truck, gas, supplies, and food. ◦◦◦◦◦ On the trail at 2:00.
Packed in all our own stuff, clean-up goodies, 2 flats of cedar shingles, a sack
of grain, a mop, and lumber. ◦◦◦◦◦ Pleasant ride in. Everything so green; I’m still not used to seeing it
this way. ◦◦◦◦◦ To the cabin at 6:00. Martin cracked the door and peeped into
the cabin, turning away without any reaction or comment aside from a hint of a
smile. We didn’t attempt any work that evening but sat out on the porch and
gabbed. I gave Martin my take on a “typical day” in Robinson Creek [he was
taking over my former position] and general info, how-to’s, what-to-expect’s,
et cetera. Took a cold bath standing
on the partly submerged log bridge.
23 May
(Mon) The horses sure enjoyed being
turned out last evening. (Ramon was eager for that “Piute hay” all the way up
the trail yesterday.) ◦◦◦◦◦ So. Martin and I tackled the job. Every moveable
item out to the porch. Started burning trash, bagging the unburnables. I swept
dust, mouse poop, and cobwebs from the entire inside of the cabin—a hideous
job. Martin washed virtually every piece of cookware. He thought I was insane
for waking up all that dust and so did I. (Let the sleeping dust lie?) But, seems
to me like it ought to be done once or twice a century. ◦◦◦◦◦ Had leftover
steak, rice, onion, and tomato for supper. Slept out on the sedgey “lawn.”
24 May
(Tue) Frosty. Started work on the
roof: stripped off all the ragged old shingles, cut 1 x 6 pine to cover the
hole. Tacked down a 16’ length of tarpaper over the crest (which previously had
none) and started laying shingles, winging it. Kinda fun, actually, once I
figured it out. Cleaned the skylights. Meanwhile, Martin was scrubbing down all
interior surfaces, replacing dishes and pots’n’pans and was on his hands and
knees going after the floor. He loved it! Every minute! (I could tell….)
25 May
(Wed) Back up on the roof. Had to start
trimming shingles for the top two rows. Used them all up and had to salvage
nails still stuck in the old ones as I’d run out. All that’s left is a bit of
the crest, the final “cap” to seal it off, and the hole on the south side (which
I may end up doing from the bottom corner up). Martin had been trying to
replace the broken windows but the glass panes kept breaking so gave that up ‘til
later. He washed more stuff and moved things back into the cabin. ◦◦◦◦◦ After a
long lunch (nap afterwards for me) I joined Martin inside. Piddled about,
washed windows, re-hung tools, replaced items in their old homes & new and
admired our work. It’s looking and feeling like home to me. Must say, there’s something I really like about this
“fresh start.” It seems appropriate that there should be a real cleansing.
Martin split more firewood and I took down the old burlap sack curtains that
Peggy Dunn [a former Piute ranger] had made years ago (they were filthy with
dust and cobwebs…plus, I’m not too concerned about backcountry peeping Toms…).
A few odds and ends left but mostly DONE. ◦◦◦◦◦ Had final late breakfast,
packed up. Martin did most of the saddling. We loaded the trash and took off. A
poorly balanced load on Zeke went upside-down just past the front gate; maybe
five pounds off but we barely made it across the river. Moral: always balance
yer loads!
Postscript:
It was later determined that a group of Forest Service people had stayed in the
cabin the previous fall and had unknowingly left a can of bacon grease on top
of the stove. As Lorenzo would say, “GREENHORNS!!”—there could be no more
effective lure to entice a bear into breaking and entering. But it did make for
another good story—one that has been told many times. (The photos I took before
we started cleaning it all up were always real winners during slide-shows.)
©2015
Tim Forsell 9 Dec 2015
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