One man’s wilderness by Mr. Sam Keith, Richard Proenneke

later, here he came from another direction, this time toward the front of the cabin, stalking—silently and ominously.
    I didn’t like it at all. There was an orneriness about him I could feel. I couldn’t have pets like this running around the place. The best thing to do would be to shoot him, skin him out, and write a letter to Fish and Game.
    He must have picked up warning vibrations. Off he went in a sudden huff, slinging his forepaws in pigeon-toed strides until the willows closed behind him. I checked the latch on my door and went back to my letter writing.
    This evening I went on bear patrol. No sign of him. Just passing through, I hope. I think he has headed out of the country. I guess I made myself a pretty good door at that. One thing I can’t understand though: If that character wanted in, how come he passed up the big window?
    Let’s have some rain. Every day I have been watering what is left of my garden.
    I need an outside bench. Some slabs from my board ripping operations are available. Well, what do you know about that? I got carried away. That bench just grew and grew into a small table and a rather handsome one at that.
    The top is fifteen inches by thirty-two inches. It stands twenty-eight inches off the ground.
    Now for a general cleanup of the area. I moved all my scrap to the woodshed or under the trees nearby. Some I would be able to use so I kept them separate. I found one four-inch-diameter log end that wasn’t split, so I augered a one-and-a-half-inch hole into one end, three inches deep, and planed it smooth. Then I cut the piece down to a three-and-three-quarter-inch length. A dandy holder for pens and pencils.
    I cut the brush under my clothesline and raked up two buckets of wood chips. Now the cabin looks landscaped.
    A good day, like all days, at Twin Lakes.
    August 9th
. No sign of that psycho in the fur coat. He’s far away, I hope.
    Heavy gray clouds. Might bring some rain. The lake is rising slightly. Must be the warm weather has been acting on the snowfields in the high mountains. No sign of game at all. Strange I don’t see a caribou on the slopes now and then.
    While cultivating the garden, I rolled out a potato the size of a walnut. The green onions look respectable. The crops to grow at Twin Lakes are rhubarb, potatoes, lettuce, green onions, and radishes.
    I have decided that no more chips and sawdust will be made in front of the cabin. I scraped up the entire area slick and clean and dressed it properly with a new coat of beach gravel.
    Fishing at the mouth of Hope Creek has been poor. Where have the fish gone?
    The wind is strong this evening, and the lake is churning as if it wants to turn itself loose.
    August 10th
. Gray clouds racing across the sky. This must be a real blow on the Gulf of Alaska.
    Today, among other things, I’d build a butcher’s block for outside the door. A ten-inch length of eleven-inch-diameter log with three legs. I finished it in short order. Then from the same log I sliced off two five-eighths-inch slabs cut on a diagonal and planed them to bring out the grain and the growth rings. They will make proper decorations for the wall or the fireplace mantel. I coated them with clear shellac. I shellacked my plaster wolf track, too.
    The rest of the morning I spent supplying wood for the stove. I sawed up pole ends and short sections of logs left over from the building program.
    After lunch I bucked up a tree that had blown across the trail last winter. I packed in the log sections and chopped up the limbs into stove lengths. Sharp tools make wood cutting a pleasure.
    I am getting hungry for a fish. Decided in late afternoon I would have to catch one. After many casts beyond the gravel bar at the mouth of Hope Creek, I was onto a fish. I worked him easy, for I was fish hungry and didn’t want to lose the grayling. A rock on the head stopped his flopping. His colors fadedquicker than a sunset. I could see him browning in the pan as I dressed him out and