Circa 1965’
THE RANGER’S CABIN
In the mid sixties things were changing everywhere, including in the boundary waters. While there wasn’t a permit system in place; the changes were coming with less maintenance and more of letting the woods change as it would on its own.
On the southwest side of Nina Moose Lake just off the portage trail to Lamb Lake was a ranger’s cabin. I believe the portage crews also occasionally used it and it certainly had sleeping in a tent beat by quite a ways. Even had a two-hole outhouse very close to the cabin. Imagine! A roof over your head while going to the bathroom, all of this available to the camper in the know for only a little walk up a fairly steep grade on a portage trail that was seldom followed to the end.
It was a bad year for berries and thus also for bears that depended on them. So there was some trepidation on the part of four fresh high school graduates on their trip into the brush. Only one of them had ever been up there before, but after all, at seventeen he was an adult.
For the most part, the trip was uneventful and it was decided that we would stay in the cabin for the last two nights on the way out. No pitching camp, a spring for drinking water near the lake and an outhouse for real comfort. Yes, it was a plan. While sharing the two-hole facility with one of my fellow campers he informed me that apparently someone had been doing a little target practice in the dump next to the outhouse. While cans were on their way out (soon to be prohibited); firearms were not permitted in at that point in time. I decided to investigate after taking care of the necessary paperwork at job end. “Hey Tim, the holes in the cans ain’t bullet holes because they puncture inwards on both sides of the can. They’re fang/canine holes from Mr. Black Bear you dummy!” Should never have explained things to the boys, as I started to interpret all the signs around the area, they became more paranoid by the minute. (There were quite a few.) And the fact that I shared the story of a previous trip where we had been hit and tore up pretty good by a bear on this lake didn’t add to their confidence. (Mistake number one!)
The last night in we stayed out until after dark fishing. No problem as the trail up to the cabin would be impossible to get lost on. (Mistake number two!) We came in got the canoes up, stashed the paddles so Mr. Porcupine or beaver wouldn’t chew off the handles for the salt and started up the trail. About two-thirds up the trail, there he was! As I shifted the flash light from my right hand to my left I drew my hunting knife (What I was going to do with that, I’ll never know. Davy Crockett I ain’t and yelled, “bear!” (Mistake number three!) I moved the light and the bear moved with it. It was a small animal, so that told me that mama was probably in the area also. As I turned to explain the further complication to my fellows I found myself to be standing there alone and could hear the canoes on the rocks below as they were being launched. Ah yes, the brave fellows were standing tall with their leader. After a little yelling and coercion I convinced the boys we’d be better off trying for the cabin. Further investigation proved it to be a shadow being cast off a large stump. Good for year’s worth of ribbing, but not too much, as I wasn’t the one who ran down the trail to launch the canoes in the dark.
“Excerpts from SIX (6) FROM SIXTY (60)” Copy right TXu 2-234-819 January 2021
Hahaha – great story!