On the edge of remote

One day, husband John and I, along with the dog, are going on a for-real backpacking trip – the kind where you stuff everything you need into a high-tech pack the size of a large latte and live off freeze-dried vittles for the weekend.

But I have quite a ways to go before we set off into the real wilderness. I admit I’m high-maintenance – well, medium-maintenance, anyway. What I mean is, I’ve weaned myself off the blow-dryer, but I still need running water and don’t like to be dirty for extended periods of time.

Plus, I like a chilled bottle of something when I’m on vacation, which really weighs down a pack, John says.

So, to work up to that dream backpacking trip, we occasionally practice brief overnight adventures in primitive accommodations. This allows John to check out new and nearly new camping equipment and to see how much he can lift in a pack.

It allows me to test out how long I can go without things I consider necessities when traveling, such as my 20-ounce canister of Lysol sanitizing wipes. (Each time we check into a hotel room I quickly wipe down everything, beginning with the TV remote, with a sanitizing wipe.)

We decided the warming cabin at Frater Lake, just off Highway 20 in the Colville National Forest, would be a fun, overnight stay in rustic lodgings, but not so remote as to prevent checking into a local hotel should we need to abandon our plans in the middle of the night.

The warming cabin is located between Colville and Tiger, Wash. Colville’s major employer continues to be lumber companies, as it was in the town’s beginning. Tiger, on the other hand, is pretty much closed down until about May.

Tiger used to be a regular sternwheeler stop and debarkation point for homesteaders and loggers coming west, some of whom set up their own cabins in this rugged land. The riverside community whose post office once boasted it served 2,000 residents at the turn of the century is now a state rest area and information center in spring and summer.

The cross-country ski trails that led from the parking lot at the Frater Lake trailhead to the cabin were a little rough. The warm, springlike temperatures of late had melted some sections which had narrowed the groomed tracks and frozen some parts into solid ice. In addition, someone had punch-holed their way to the cabin, maybe carrying a heavy pack.

After dumping our packs, we continued from the cabin on the cross-country ski trail that loops around the lake, taking the “short” loop. We had seen the trail in wildflowers and huckleberries back in the summer. (In fact, I wrote about it in my first “As I Roam” column, which I’m sure, like my mother, everyone clipped out and posted on their refrigerator.)

When we returned to the cabin, I began to sweep up with a well-used broom that had been leaning against the wall. A dustpan hung on a nail above. John retrieved wood from the well-stocked woodshed out back. A restroom is also located near the cabin. However, no water is available and trash must be hauled out.

I set up the kitchen area, wiping off surfaces and laying out a felt-lined oilcloth on a large wooden table. I wiped the oilcloth off with a sanitizing wipe and used several others to clean off other things.

Wine chilled in the snow outside while we sliced bread and heated store-bought clam chowder for dinner.

At times the crackling fire and natural landscape outside made me feel removed from civilization, but we were reminded now and again that we weren’t that far away. Traffic, including logging trucks, occasionally zoomed past on the nearby highway.

A helicopter buzzed the cabin and adjacent forest about five times. I wondered if we should expect the border patrol to come by looking for an escaped killer (too many pajama parties spent watching slasher films in the ‘80s). No one came.

Around 9 p.m., all the mechanical noise disappeared and we were alone in the dark and quiet. Kah-less slinked around the cabin creating huge shadows on the log walls.

I’m glad we didn’t have to pitch a tent, I thought, as I studied the pattern of the large beams overhead. The cabin was cozy and I was toasty-warm in my sleeping bag.

Rain pattered on the roof and we wondered what the ski trail would be like the next day.

In the morning, John woke first, fed Kah-less, started a fire and brewed coffee. I slept in another hour, then lounged around, enjoying the warmth of the fire.

A fly hatch of Biblical proportions erupted in the cabin and by mid-morning the windows were lined with flies – large, slow-moving fat ones as well as the standard-sized house variety.

Kah-less didn’t like all the commotion and smacking involved in killing the pests. John and I took turns taking the dog out while the other one flattened flies with an old newspaper.

A black-capped chickadee appreciated the flies more than us. A quick hunter, he tracked down his prey on the cabin’s front porch. We watched as he whizzed about under the rafters, chasing down his breakfast.

We skied the “long” loop around frozen Frater Lake before we drove home. Other cross-country ski and snowmobile trails exist in the area. Due to mild weather, the skiing is much more like spring skiing. This would be a good time to bring out the old “rock” skis or pick up a cheap pair at a second-hand store.

Also note that because of budget constraints the trail is not being groomed, so skiers may encounter downed trees and other obstacles. The cabin and trails are the results of the volunteer efforts of local residents and businesses.

At a gas station, I took the first opportunity I’d had since the previous morning to wash my hands with soap and water. Grey-brown water circled the drain and I smelled like campfire.

“Getting dirty can be fun,” I thought, but I refused to get out anywhere else on the way back home.