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It’s Halloween, and thought I’d change things up a bit with a letter Buck sent me one year about an old friend of his.
October 22, 1985 Hoops, I was talking to my friend Dex Douglas the other day, and the subject of Halloween came up. We related the same old stories about the mischief we used to get into on All Saint’s Night, and the subsequent penalties we ended up serving when our folks found out.
“You know though”, Dex said, “there was one Halloween that I’ll never forget. Strangest thing.....”
“Buddy of mine from Special Forces came up to do some late season grouse hunting. Thought it would be a good chance to scout some of my deer hunting territory, so I took him up to the Saari Lake area. Love that country of hills and potholes and run into a lot of partridge up that way.
Beautiful morning. One of those crisp, clear, frosty mornings that the grouse like to come out onto the hillsides to warm up on. Saw a few. Even got a couple of shots but nothing for the pot.
About 11:30 we sat down for lunch. Built a little fire, opened up the thermos’ and settled back for a pipe. Bill decided he wanted to go for a little walk, so I gave him some landmarks and we agreed to meet a couple of hours later back at the truck. Bill was new to the area but the training we had in the service was enough to get through Korea, so this was nothing.
Early in the afternoon the weather began to change. A cloud bank rolled in, and the temp began to drop. Got to be 3:00 and Bill didn’t show up. I didn’t really start to worry until after 4:00 when it began to drizzle.
To make a long story short, I looked for a while, then decided I better get some help. Sheriff Johanson and I searched until well after dark, then gave up until daylight. Rough night. The drizzle turned to freezing rain and finally to snow. Got down to 24 degrees before morning.
The Search and Rescue Team was already there when I got to the lake the next morning at dawn. They had dogs with them and the plane would be out a little later when the weather cleared a bit. We fanned out and searched for over two hours, when much to our surprise, out walks Bill on his own looking like he’d spent the night at home in his own bed. He laughed when he saw our puzzled looks and kidded us that he was so competent a woodsman that he could even get a close shave after an unexpected night in the woods! After not too much coaxing he told us his story.”
“After I left you, Dex” he started, “I headed right to the big white pine over by that north/ south draw. Took off on the left hillside and flushed one grouse almost right away. Didn’t get a shot but saw where it landed so marched right over there. Flushed it again, got a shot and missed. Found it once more and finally bagged it. First grouse in three years! When I turned to come back, the draw seemed to be running
the wrong way.
Figured I’d better take a compass reading and doggone if it wasn’t runnin’ the wrong way! Well, I started to backtrack and thought I saw the white pine. I must have walked toward that thing for 45 minutes, but it never seemed to get any closer. By now I realized that it was starting to get a little chilly. No need to panic, but I wasn’t looking forward to spending a night in the woods.
When it started to rain late in the afternoon, I made my big mistake. Rather than looking for some cover I decided that I would try to hoof it out. But just when I thought I was making some progress, the woods would look all different again. I started to hurry and, wouldn’t you know, tripped and turned my ankle. Not enough to bother me that much but all I could think about was what a novice I was and that I’d probably end up breaking my neck before this was all over.
Well, pretty soon it started to get dark, and the rain was not only turning to ice but was coming down harder. How stupid. Here I was totally lost, hadn’t found any shelter, no dry wood, was soaking wet both from the inside and the outside, had tried to break my leg and had only one raw partridge to eat. I was really ticked off!
Just when I thought this was going to be a long uncomfortable night, I noticed a light down through the trees. Never even crossed my mind that someone might be looking for me. I yelled and hobbled towards it. Boy was I surprised when the light didn’t come from a lantern but from a small cabin. What a relief! Had no idea anyone would be in this remote area, but not only were they here, they had a warm place to stay.
Knocked on the door but no answer. Knocked again and just happened to catch a movement at the window out of the corner of my eye. There, looking out from between the curtains, were two noses and four very large eyes. Finally, after I knocked again and yelled a bit, I could tell someone was on the other side of the door and was about to open it.
One of the pairs of eyes was there lookin’ back at me, followed closely by a short, bearded, very unkempt little man. He motioned me in, and I stepped across the threshold as quick as I could considering my gimp ankle. Inside, the cabin was in much the same kind of pleasant disarray as the occupant. Already seated at a table piled high with refuse was another man who could have easily passed for a twin of the first – right down to the grubby red woollies that they seemed to wear as house clothes.
A very animated conversation took place between the two in a language that was completely strange to me. The way they talked and gestured; I couldn’t tell if they were arguing, or bartering or scheming on how to do me in. For a short time, I began to think that maybe instead of a welcome refuge, this might be the last place I’d ever see.
Finally, the first little man turned to me and in very broken English explained that they were only trying to decide if I was safe enough to let me sleep on the floor or if they were going to make me spend the night in some kind of shed.
Man, that was a relief! I told them I didn’t care where I slept as long as it was out of the rain, and they could give me directions back to the main road in the morning. I think they wanted to believe me, but you could tell they didn’t feel very comfortable. I got the definite feeling that they didn’t entertain company very often.
They motioned me to the table, brushed some of the pile to one corner and offered me some coffee from a pot that looked like it spent most of its unwashed life sitting right on top of the wood cookstove. Coffee tasted like it too – right down to the mud on the bottom.
They had a lot of questions, and I did, too. We spent the next three or four hours trying to talk through my tired mind and their almost indecipherable brogue. What complicated matters was an old small-mouthed crock that they brought out with some liquid fire they called ‘puntikka’. They insisted we’d all occasionally have to taste it to make sure it hadn’t gone bad. Turned out they were a pair of bachelor brothers. Their accent was Finnish, and the name was Rajala. They lived off the land as much as possible and bought their staples twice a year from money they got from trapping and picking a little wild rice. From what I could pick up, seemed they were second generation stock from an immigrant family. They had grown up in the woods and had taken over the family homestead cabin when their folks passed away several years before. They had tried to eke out a living by struggling with a small farm but had given that up long ago. The brothers had tried piece cutting some timber for pulpwood but decided that was too much work. Simple lifestyle but they seemed very content with it. One thing they missed very much was tobacco. They’d been out of their stock for about four weeks, and although they preferred Copenhagen, had pipes and were very eager to try some of my pipe tobacco.
Finally, I apologized and said I had to get some sleep. By this time their moonshine had loosened them up some and they insisted I sleep in the single bed that they had, and they would sleep on the floor. Sounded fine by me.
I woke up about dawn, and they were both already out and about. The coffee pot was brewing yet another pot full without having seen any dishwater, and the unmistakable smell of venison and frying potatoes was tickling my nose. Eino and Reino were in a very good mood. Their talk bounced back and forth with an almost singsong cadence.
When I appeared, they started to laugh at my polypro longjohns and kidded me about the cheap material they were made of. Some joke! Those things cost me 75 bucks!
Anyway, they fed me well, let me use an old razor, told me how to get back to the highway and shoved a venison sandwich wrapped in newspaper into my game pocket. I wished them well, gave them the rest of my pipe tobacco and limped off down the trail. They can’t live too far from here cuz’ it only took me about 45 minutes to walk out. You guys ever run into those two?”
Sheriff Johanson looked at me and asked “Dex, is this guy pulling our leg or not?” I was speechless. I really didn’t know. Bill looked puzzled.
“Whataya mean, pulling your leg? Here’s the sandwich they gave me, and I sure didn’t shoot, skin and cook a deer last night, let alone bake a loaf of bread.”
I started to explain to Bill that yes, I did know the brothers he was talking about. I had visited them many times, usually bringing them a couple of tins of Copenhagen. But that was over fifteen years ago, and they had both died when their cabin burned on Halloween night, 1963.
“Frank suddenly looked shaken. From the condition he was in, it was obvious he had spent the night indoors – someplace. The sheriff and I both looked at the sandwich and noticed the same thing at the same time. The date on the newspaper was September 17, 1963, and it certainly didn’t look like 15-year-old newsprint!”
Now, Hoops. You know how Dex could spin a whopper now and then. But he was adamant this story was true. Tall tale or not, it sure makes a good yarn!
Talk to you in a couple of weeks, Buck
