Dear Chloe,
Okay, decision time. The kind of moccasins I need will have to be solid enough to stand up to the wear of walking. They’ll have to be warm and waterproof enough to handle snow. And most of all; they’ll have to fit. I can’t just wrap hides around my feet and tie them in a knot.
I’ve got two full sized beaver pelts, and a few rabbit skins. Beavers are swimmers; so I can assume their hides will be waterproof enough to do the job. I took as large a piece of bark as I could and traced my feet. I need to cut a piece of fur that is essentially two footprints, side by side; so that I can fold it over and sew it shut.
I have laces, on my now-discarded shoes. But I don’t know if I should use them for laces on my moccasins, or if I should use them to sew the things together. It’s a very underrated piece of civilization; the shoelace. It’s a tightly woven cord; with secured hardened tips on each end. More useful than I can say; given that I’m either going to have to use that, or invent a sewing needle out of fish bones.
I’ve been trying to work the hide for a few minutes; and it’s gone stiff and tough. I’ve used some water to try and soften it again. I’ll give it a few more moments. The hard part is the rest of my legs. I’ve traced my pants, getting an idea of how much ‘material’ will be needed. A pair of fur-lined slippers isn’t going to do it. The moccasin has to extend at least part way up my leg. I might just have enough beaver hide to do the job, but not much more. If I mess this up in some disastrous way, I won’t be able to try again.
I’ve seen the wolves once or twice; and a deer that took off before I could get a good look at it; but my arrows would never have been able to take either of them down.
On that subject: I’ve upgraded my arrows somewhat. The blackened tips worked, but without any weight on the front of the arrow; the effective range wasn’t that good. Fortunately, since then; I’ve figured out something that makes a passable arrowhead. Beaver teeth. The animated animals with the oversized front teeth aren’t that far off. And it’s far easier to file down a tooth than a stone. My ‘magic bullets’ are increasing in number.
Okay, it’s time to try my hand at being a cobbler. Wish me luck, Chloe.
-//-
Dear Chloe,
Three days left until my Big Walk. And my shoes are still the biggest question mark. I did the best I could with limited I have no idea how to do any of this. The things will say on my feet; but not enough to be waterproof. I’ve had to take out my stitches and try again three times. On my fourth attempt, I decided to give up before I ruin these hides completely. I have to change my strategy a bit. The shoes I have still work, they’re just not sealed up any more. But they’ll stay on my feet. So I’ve decided to make some socks instead. If I can make some waterproof socks, and put my shoes on over them; it might be enough. Socks don’t have to be waterproof; and with both of them laced onto my feet; it should be enough to hold the snow out.
It’s frustrating though. I used up the last of my meat yesterday. The fish are still coming; not every day, but regular enough. The snares have caught things once or twice. Enough that hunger is not a source of terror; though I don’t have much to fall back on. Truth be told, I’ve almost gotten used to staying one meal ahead of disaster.
I wonder if I should just start my hike across the lake now. I gave myself an extra week to be safe; and because I didn’t think I’d survive the hike around the edge of it. It might have been frozen solid for days. I’m not nearly as heavy as I used to be. Of course, playing it safe was a life choice for me. This would be a particularly stupid way to die, if I’m wrong.
It’s funny, Chloe; but I almost forgot that Winter is a season and not a fact of existence. I’ve been up here for more than a month. Winter lasts three months. Longer, in this part of the country; according to you. Part of me wonders if I can last the whole winter. Part of me knows I’m not that lucky. And I have been lucky. Probably luckier than I know.
But I don’t know what’s going to happen when I get to the other side. How much of this do I take with me? If I can find your cabin in a day; I don’t need to take any of my food or firewood. If I can find it in two days, I don’t need my snares or weapons. If I can’t find it, I need all of these things. But if I build a sledge of some kind, I’ll be moving slower, hauling it all behind me; and risking the ice.
If it takes me less than three hours to get across the lake; then I could go; scream your name for a while, leave a note if you don’t answer; and make it home before dark. Heh. It’s almost like being back in the city. Run an errand, be home in time to avoid rush hour.
Maybe I should just go now.
-//-
Dear Dad,
It’s economy of sound, not economy of thought.
I have to stay quiet. Quiet means I listen. Quiet means I am hard to hear. I remember writing before that all the trivia was beaten out of me. Little things that I know from TV Shows and books I read? Those are the throwaway thoughts that have kept me alive; given me inspiration. I can feel myself discarding all the unimportant things, so that I don’t carry an ounce of weight I don’t need. Not on my person, not in my head.
But my brain is still going just as strong, just as constant. It’s like I’m speaking another language in my head. A language made up of things I need, and nothing I don’t need.
You’re still here, dad. I remember everything you ever taught me, all the things I observed about your character. I haven’t thought about any of my friends from work, and as I was writing that, it suddenly occurred to me that I won’t miss them if I never see them again. But I’ll miss you, and I wasn’t going to see you again even before all this.
I’d moved out and made my life, long before you died, dad. I don’t think you ever saw the new apartment. And yet when I heard, it felt like something major was missing from the universe.
But I’ll take you with me, dad. I have no room in my head for a useless thought; and I’ll always have room for you and Liz.
I’ll talk about you tonight. Out loud, I mean. I have to ration the sound I make, and I’ve learned to keep the hundred-odd things that keep going through my mind safely hidden away from the cold. But I’ll share my thoughts of you with the woods, and the stars, and the sky.
-//-
Dear Chloe,
I’ve decided to start my walk tomorrow. Final checks on my gear, final choices about what to take; final lap with my snares. I can’t leave the fish traps up permanently; it’s dangerous to the wildlife, and just a little illegal. It’s funny, but neither of those things bothered me when I was hungry.
My mortal fear was that the snowstorms would move in today; screw with my travel plans. When I woke up this morning, I stuck my head outside; and I realized that I knew the weather would hold. I didn’t even look at the Barometer. I still don’t know what I reacted to. The clouds, the smell of the air; the temperature… I just knew.
In fact, I’ve been looking at my gear and something occurred to me. I’ve been able to improvise a lot of this. I had some matches from the Ranger Station; but I’d already learned how to make fire. I found a sharp knife, but I had learned how to improvise with the elk-bone. I’d kill for an axe, but I’ve improvised an adze. The tarp and the blanket make a huge difference in my shelter, but I’d been making shelters with branches and leaves before that, and didn’t freeze. The soup mix saved my life while I got better at hunting, but I haven’t had soup in weeks. The metal mug saved my life; but the clay pot I made has twice the capacity. If I’d made it forty days ago, I would have had it since before finding the mug.
Civilization has added convenience and resilience; but I somehow managed it. The original Cave-Man. The Natural Man. Like full-on Daniel Boone. Like Thoreau.
Like you, Chloe.
I’ve decided to leave most of it. I’m taking a meal’s worth of food. My tools and cordage, of course; and the journal. I can’t exactly dismantle the shelter; nor do I want to. Sticks and wood are on every side of everything in this Valley. I can see the trees on the far side of the lake from here; so I won’t haul firewood. I’ve improvised some loops with my cordage. The loops will carry my tools. It’ll be ungainly; but I’ll move faster than if I was hauling a sledge.
The weather is misty; but it’s the kind of fog that will fade when the sun gets higher. I’m planning to pile up the last of my firewood and make a bonfire on the edge of the lake. The fog means my visibility is only a few dozen feet; and a bonfire will give me a bearing. I’ve been looking across that lake for a week; and believe a straight line is my best bet. My weather-sense and the Barometer agree that the fog will be gone soon enough; but if I can keep a straight line, I can save a few hours.
With luck, Chloe? You and I will meet in time for supper.
~~/*\~~~~/*\~~~~/*\~~
~~/*\~~~~/*\~~~~/*\~~