Winter's Way on Strum Island
I came to the cabin on Strum Island yesterday afternoon for many reasons. The most immediate was delivery of two 40 pound tanks of propane (the standard outdoor grill-sized tank is twenty pounds). It’s necessary to keep some minimal heat to prevent the water lines from freezing this time of year. Tearing out the wall to replace copper is not one of my favored tasks at Strum Island although it is a task with which I am intimately familiar (three times now). This late in the hunting season, tanks are emptying on about every trip.
As precious as the fireplace is to the old cabin’s atmosphere, it is inadequate for heating the entire cabin. Two tanks fuel the main cabin 40,000 BTU heater, two tanks fuel the 30,000 BTU kitchen heater, two tanks fuel the refrigerator and stove, and two tanks fuel the hot water heater and bathroom heater. Regardless of varying rates of consumption, as a team, they seem to have a knack for emptying at about the same time.
I brought two tanks last Sunday afternoon while there was still seven inches of snow on the ground. Admittedly, that trip was mainly about playing in the snow. Yesterday was the first day I’ve felt human-like in over two weeks. The flu has had its way with me. So the trip last weekend was ill-advised but necessary to avoid the greater evil of repairing water lines.
It’s always an adventure pulling a boat and trailer through a snow-covered field to launch into a river already out of its banks due to snow melt. Frankly, nearly every trip to the island includes some sort of thrill. Mostly, though, I wanted to be on Strum Island during a snow event. It’s special.
In the woods, snow has a way of silencing the world. While occasionally quiet, there’s always sound in the woods – a squirrel cutting nuts, a bug buzzing, a bird chirping, a leaf rustling. Not so during a heavy snow. Snow’s sound blanket makes the limb falling from the heavy weight of wet snow all that much more pronounced.
Putting into words the feeling I get from being inside an old log cabin with a roaring fire while the earth outside is wrapped in snow is a problem. I know all five of my senses are sated. One of my theories is this: the warmth from a fireplace is fetal in nature. We’re taken back to before there was conscious thought to a place in time where we were warm, safe, unaware.
But I digress. Yesterday I came with additional intentions. My opportunities to hunt are quickly running out this season. I’ve nearly consumed the venison from the deer I harvested during bow season so some extra meat in the freezer would be welcomed. And, I need to get some meat to my jerky supplier, my friend, James Pratt. I’ve promised venison to friends in White Pine – Tommy Musick and Richard Webb.
I have had no quiet time to speak of for many days due to the holidays. The cell phone works only sporadically here. With Tennessee Valley Authority draining the upstream lake of Ft. Patrick Henry at the rate of 8600 cubic feet per second, the water is too high for any intruders. There’s a good chance for sanctuary, reflection, reading to prepare for the political clashes certain to come, and even some writing.
Also, the smoker is at the cabin and I’ve thawed a couple of pheasants to smoke. Have you ever tasted smoked pheasant breast? I use apple wood and apple juice in the drip pan. The smell of those babies smoking will linger in my mind if not my nostrils for a lifetime. I’m using the rest of the pheasant to make a stock and deboning the meat to use for a rice-based soup for supper.
My friend, Joe Mitchell, gave me a couple of pounds of ground Nilgai – a south Texas antelope – needing to be cooked. I’ll brown it, drain the little fat there is in it, wash it, and use it for Sloppy Joes or for making a meaty sauce for spaghetti. Simply put, things just taste better when cooked at the cabin.
Finally, I observed a few trees down and many major limbs broken from last weekend’s snow storm. There’s plenty of clean up and chainsaw work to do. The woodpile needs replenishing anyway.
So today, I’m enjoying the fireplace, cooking, contributing to the woodpile and writing a bit – with rifle loaded while wearing hunter’s orange. Who said guys can’t multi-task? Such is life as winter has its way on Strum Island.
As precious as the fireplace is to the old cabin’s atmosphere, it is inadequate for heating the entire cabin. Two tanks fuel the main cabin 40,000 BTU heater, two tanks fuel the 30,000 BTU kitchen heater, two tanks fuel the refrigerator and stove, and two tanks fuel the hot water heater and bathroom heater. Regardless of varying rates of consumption, as a team, they seem to have a knack for emptying at about the same time.I brought two tanks last Sunday afternoon while there was still seven inches of snow on the ground. Admittedly, that trip was mainly about playing in the snow. Yesterday was the first day I’ve felt human-like in over two weeks. The flu has had its way with me. So the trip last weekend was ill-advised but necessary to avoid the greater evil of repairing water lines.
It’s always an adventure pulling a boat and trailer through a snow-covered field to launch into a river already out of its banks due to snow melt. Frankly, nearly every trip to the island includes some sort of thrill. Mostly, though, I wanted to be on Strum Island during a snow event. It’s special.
In the woods, snow has a way of silencing the world. While occasionally quiet, there’s always sound in the woods – a squirrel cutting nuts, a bug buzzing, a bird chirping, a leaf rustling. Not so during a heavy snow. Snow’s sound blanket makes the limb falling from the heavy weight of wet snow all that much more pronounced.
Putting into words the feeling I get from being inside an old log cabin with a roaring fire while the earth outside is wrapped in snow is a problem. I know all five of my senses are sated. One of my theories is this: the warmth from a fireplace is fetal in nature. We’re taken back to before there was conscious thought to a place in time where we were warm, safe, unaware.
But I digress. Yesterday I came with additional intentions. My opportunities to hunt are quickly running out this season. I’ve nearly consumed the venison from the deer I harvested during bow season so some extra meat in the freezer would be welcomed. And, I need to get some meat to my jerky supplier, my friend, James Pratt. I’ve promised venison to friends in White Pine – Tommy Musick and Richard Webb.
I have had no quiet time to speak of for many days due to the holidays. The cell phone works only sporadically here. With Tennessee Valley Authority draining the upstream lake of Ft. Patrick Henry at the rate of 8600 cubic feet per second, the water is too high for any intruders. There’s a good chance for sanctuary, reflection, reading to prepare for the political clashes certain to come, and even some writing.
Also, the smoker is at the cabin and I’ve thawed a couple of pheasants to smoke. Have you ever tasted smoked pheasant breast? I use apple wood and apple juice in the drip pan. The smell of those babies smoking will linger in my mind if not my nostrils for a lifetime. I’m using the rest of the pheasant to make a stock and deboning the meat to use for a rice-based soup for supper.
My friend, Joe Mitchell, gave me a couple of pounds of ground Nilgai – a south Texas antelope – needing to be cooked. I’ll brown it, drain the little fat there is in it, wash it, and use it for Sloppy Joes or for making a meaty sauce for spaghetti. Simply put, things just taste better when cooked at the cabin.
Finally, I observed a few trees down and many major limbs broken from last weekend’s snow storm. There’s plenty of clean up and chainsaw work to do. The woodpile needs replenishing anyway.
So today, I’m enjoying the fireplace, cooking, contributing to the woodpile and writing a bit – with rifle loaded while wearing hunter’s orange. Who said guys can’t multi-task? Such is life as winter has its way on Strum Island.
posted by Mike Faulk @ 4:47 PM
1 comments
1 Comments:
sounds like heaven!
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