White Pine (7 page)

“I want you boys to think about how it feels
to walk through the woods on a moonlit night. The way the snow
reflects and the shadows dance in the moonlight. Think about
walking into a virgin growth of pine, how the trees whisper to each
other. These Northwoods are alive, and I feel it most of all by
some of the lakes. At sunset, you sit on the shore and look out
over the water and see a sturgeon leap out of the stillness,
cleaning the sand out of its gills, and you feel the power all
around you.”

Enchanted by his words, I propped myself up
on my elbow and peered down at him. I’d felt echoes of what Dob was
describing, but I sure wasn’t going to say so in front of the other
fellas. So, I waited and listened.

“Now, boys, I’ve stood on the black rocks of
Lake Superior and I’ve seen the white-tipped waves crashing on the
shore. I’ve watched bald eagles soar and heard the cry of the loon
at twilight. I tell you, this Northland is special, and if I were a
religious man, I would say blessed.”

I looked around and saw all of the men were
listening hard. They were men who lived close to nature and each
understood the mystery and the majesty that Dob was describing.

“The Ojibwe Indians were here before us, but
before them, another Indian tribe lived up in these lands. I don’t
know who they were, and I don’t expect many can tell you. But they
built huge mounds in the ground in the shapes of animals... Have
any of you ever seen anything like that?”

“There were some near Rice Lake,” one of the
men offered. “I used to visit a girl up there, but she went and
married a farmer. I saw a couple of them shapes.”

“Now, I’ve travelled a good many places in my
near fifty years,” Dob continued, “and I can tell honestly that you
feel something in a place like that. You feel it down in your
bones. Like it’s sacred. Do you know what I mean, boys?”

There were a few grunts of assent.

“Well, according to the fellow who told me
this story, there was a land speculator and a lone wolf, one of
those fellas who scout out trees to harvest. These two had teamed
up. The land speculator sent the lone wolf out to some forties of
prime timber up near Ashland.

“The lone wolf found some good parcels and
planned on claiming them for the speculator as soon as he got to a
government office. But then he heard about some real fine stands of
trees by some Indian lands. These lands hadn’t been touched yet
because the Indians believed that the land they were on was
sacred.

“Still, the lone wolf headed out to check the
land for himself. What he found was an untouched forest of giant
white pine. The land was flat and the trees so huge that the ground
was near bare under them. And it was quiet amongst those trees,
like a living soul hadn’t been to those parts in a long time, even
the birds were quiet. All he could hear was the sound of the wind
whistling through the trees. In the center of these woods was a
clearing, and there that lone wolf found the mounds. He walked
around them one at a time. He recognized the first one as a white
tail deer. The second one was bigger and he had to climb up a tree
to make out the shape. Once he had a bird’s eye view, he saw it was
a bear. He walked around for some time, but felt mighty peculiar,
like someone or something was there with him the whole time,
watching him. He recognized that he was somewhere special and felt
like he was intruding, that he shouldn’t be there at all. So, he
climbed back down, left those woods, and walked back to town.”

A couple of the men muttered and grumbled at
this.

“Now.” Dob held up his hand. “I know that it
sounds unlikely that a lumberjack would just walk away from some
prime timber. But you all know that lone wolves can be an odd
group. Too much time alone in the woods sometimes makes them
peculiar. All I know is that this particular lone wolf felt there
was something not right up in the forest near those Indian mounds,
that it was a place that should be left alone. When he met with his
boss, the speculator, the lone wolf told him about the other
forties he’d scouted, so that the speculator could file the claims.
But he held off on mentioning the forest near the mounds. He just
didn’t feel it should be bothered.

“But, later that night, he ended up at a
watering hole with some other fellas. They had a few drinks and
started playing some cards. As the evening wore on, the lone wolf
got to talking and he told the story of the mounds and the great
pines surrounding them.

“Well, work got back to the speculator, who
was a sharp fella. First thing the next morning, he registered for
those lands and that fall he sent a lumberjack crew to work those
forties. This is where the story gets strange. For, you see, bad
luck plagued the crews. The first group set up camp. But even
before the first snows began to fall, they all got sick. They never
got well enough to work that winter, and they cleared out before
Christmas. The speculator sent up a small crew the next winter.
Now, I didn’t believe this when I first heard it, but the fella who
told me this story swore it was true, none of those fellas ever
went home. No one knows what happened to those men. Their camp was
cleared out of all their gear. They just vanished. None of their
families ever heard a thing.”

Someone snorted.

“You can doubt all you want, but this is the
story that I was told. The third winter that speculator had just
about had it. All of his other lands were producing. There was
money to be made from those pines by the mounds and he decided that
he was going to keep a close eye on things. To make sure that the
job got done, he personally visited that camp. One night, he was
sleeping in the bunkhouse on a top bunk near the door, in a spot
not unlike where young Sevy is sleeping. In the dead of the night,
he heard a scratching at the door. He ignored it. A few minutes
later, he felt something cold and wet touching his hand. He thought
that there was snow blowing in through the cracks, so he tucked his
hands under his blanket. Then, he felt that same cold touch on his
feet. He thought some dog was licking or sniffing at them. This got
his attention. He sat bolt up right, ready to tear into the fool
dog that was keeping him up, but rather than a dog, he found
himself staring right into the red eyes of the biggest black bear
that he’d ever seen.”

Dob growled low and deep, a sound that sent
shivers down my back.

“That bear dragged the speculator right off
his bunk and out of the cabin and into the woods before any of the
fellas in that bunkhouse could do anything about it. Even though
they were spooked, that crew searched the woods for their boss that
night and the next, but there wasn’t a sign of him, not even a
scrap of clothing. It spooked them all something fierce. A few days
later, those men lit out and never returned. Story travelled the
camps, you know how they do, that those forties were haunted and I
believe that to this day, those pines still stand.”

For a few minutes after Dob finished telling
his story, the other men were silent, digesting the words.

“Tell us another one,” one of the jacks
asked.

“Come on, Mr. O’Dwyer,” Jerry Smith
begged.

“No, I’m done for tonight, boys. We all have
to get some shut eye. We gotta work tomorrow.”

There were a few more complaints, but most of
the fellas took the next few minutes to settle in for the
night.

When the lamp was shut off, I lay flat on my
back up in my bunk, staring up at the roof, and thinking about that
bear and the speculator. Even though I knew Dob’s story was
nonsense, I made sure to tuck my feet and hands more securely under
the blanket, not that a blanket was going to stop a bear. Still, I
fell right asleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night because
I had to take a piss. I slipped on my boots and a blanket over my
shoulders and headed outside. I’d unbuttoned and was peeing when I
heard a growling, low and deep, behind me. Half awake, I knew it
was the bear coming to get me. I turned to run, tripped over the
laces of my undone boots, and fell face down, ass up into a snow
drift.

The snow was miserably cold, but not as
miserable as I felt when a group of jacks stood over me laughing
down at me. They were still laughing as I pulled myself out of the
snow, shivering and wet. I didn’t even bother changing my wet long
johns when I climbed back into bed. I just pulled my blankets over
my head, hunkered down and tried to ignore the chuckles and the
ribbing.

“Boy better watch out for that bear.”

“I don’t know if I’d go to sleep, Sevy. That
bear may come for you again.”

“Did you see the look on his face?”

If I could have died of shame right then and
there, I would have.

Chapter Five

~ Bad Decision ~

I was still working as a road monkey when the
Push put out the word that I was to learn how to be a real
barkeater. So the fellas started teaching me. Even though I think I
got in the way more often than not, I was starting to feel like a
woodsman. I could remove a brush with a grub hoe, work a cross cut
saw, and fell a tree as well as anyone. I was earning my keep.

I should of felt better, and I did mostly.
But the nights were still tough, especially those nights when I
pulled double duty and helped Mr. Walker ice log roads. On the
trails at night, the loneliness would sink into my stomach ‘til I
could barely breathe or swallow. It was worse then, because I had
time to think. Time to feel sorry for myself. I often wondered how
Pa could do it year after year, the being alone part, I meant.
Sure, at camp there were fellas all around you, but they weren’t
your kin. And Pa had left us each year for as long as I could
remember to go to the Northwoods. Then again, I knew what drove Pa.
He’d told me himself many times. It was that fool dream he had of
having a farm of his own. He wanted it so bad for all of us that he
could taste it. And only now, when I was so far from home, living
with strangers and working like a dog, could I really understand
the price of that dream, because now I was paying it.

On the night I wish I could forget or at
least do over, Mr. Walker wasn’t doing too well either. He was
sick, coughing nonstop and with a runny nose. After an hour or so
of icing, I could see that he was barely able to stay upright in
his seat. The problem was, with the temperature well below
freezing, it was prime icing weather.

I yawned and, taking off a mitten, rubbed at
my eyes. I was plumb worn out myself.

“Sevy,” Mr. Walked said. “I just ain’t up for
more tonight. I’m likely burning up with fever. Could you finish
the last few trails alone? And then tend to Bob and Sammy?”

Bob and Sammy, Walker’s Perchies, were his
livelihood and his family. As a hay pounder, or horse teamster, his
livelihood depended on them. So I knew that it meant something that
he was entrusting them to me. But I was so tired I could barely see
straight. Still, I answered, “Yes sir, Mr. Walker. I’ll take care
of the boys. I’ll finish up those last few trails.”

Mr. Walker smiled weakly. “Thanks, boy. And
don’t forget to scatter hay on the downslopes. Tomorrow morning,
you sleep in. I’ll explain to the Push.”

Numbly, I nodded. I drove the team back to
the camp and dropped Mr. Walker off at the bunkhouse. Then, I
continued on with icing the logging trails. Being out there alone,
in the darkness, with only Bob and Sammy for company, it was
different, scarier. It was likely there were all sorts of wild
animals around, wolves, badgers, and maybe even an angry bear
roused from his winter’s sleep. Still, I worked diligently. It was
near the middle of the night when I finished icing all of the
trails. There were a few smaller log trails where I hadn’t spread
any straw on the downslopes, but I figured I’d done more than my
share for a fella working alone. In the morning, I’d tell Mr.
Walker about those trails.

Back at camp, I tended to Bob and Sammy, just
as I’d promised Mr. Walker I would.

Chapter
Six

~ The Accident ~

The next morning, I ignored the call of
“Daylight in the Swamp.” It felt like heaven to pull the blankets
up to my ears while all the other men were trooping out. I slept
until near dinner time when Bart was sent in to wake me up. Once I
was geared up, I joined him on the wide, flat seat of the sled
which was loaded up with hot food for the jacks who were dinnering
out since they worked a forty far from the camp. Bart clucked to
the old gelding, Cy, and we were on our way.

For the first time in a long time, I felt
good. It was a beautiful, bright, winter day. Sunlight glanced off
of the snow and ice sickles hung from some of the bigger trees.
Christmas was fast approaching, so Bart had put sleigh bells on the
rig. They tinkled cheerfully with our gentle movement down the
trails.