Click and See the Scene
I saw this movie a long time ago when
either of the three major networks would shove in a flick to fill up
a late Sunday afternoon. Jerimiah Johnson at first seemed corny as
hell but as the movie went on, I became more interested. What struck
me throughout most of it wasn't the dialog or action sequences, it
was the dead quiet. All you hear are Jermiah's footsteps, the wind
or barring those, nothing at all. For a few moments, you can
experience what that silence is like if you've never been away from
it all. That silence is enveloping. I've only known it for short
periods and I mean short, hours at most. I have no idea what that
would be like for months.
There were real mountain men back then,
around the 1840's. From what a history professor told me, those guys
never did stay long up in he high country. They trapped what they
could, came back down and traded it. The career usually lasted three
years for most. If you weren't killed by the Indians, eaten by bears
or busted through thin ice, became wet then froze to death, you plain
just became worn out from having to deal with the elements when your
so exposed like that. You can't build permanent shelter when you are
running trap lines all the time, so you camp out and move alot...even
through those bitch winters in the Rockies.
The movie's climax is that scene in the
clip above. It's kind of spooky really. Jeremiah's been gone so long
into the woods he's forgotten most of his past, civilization and even
the particular days in a calender. He's gone from someone who's been
juggling 140 variables a day in his civilized life to being pretty
much numb. It's what he wanted when he set out and got it in spades.
**
PBS occasionally has decent programs
on, mostly when they in their donation drives. We accidentally came
across “Alone in the Wilderness,” that was shot in the late '60s.
In it, you see a real life Richard Proenneke who at 51, builds his
own cabin w/o powertools in a remote part of Alaska. He so enjoyed
his first stay there that he retired to the cabin till he was in his
80's. As we watched it, us guys seemed to be transfixed by his wood
working skills and silly strength. You see him working all day sawing
trees, chopping trees, finishing logs and then carrying them around.
When was the last time you used a hand saw to cut anything? I haven't
in a few years and cutting through a six inch bough of dried tree
limb took me over 15 minutes. It would take Proenneke three. They guy
had the stamina of a 16 year old kid.
Tough ol' bird.
Perhaps it's a guy thing, but as we
watched it, most of us were in awe. We just kept commenting on this
guy's ability to hack out of the woods all that he needed. Spoons to
eat with? He carved them. Bear proof door locks? He carved those out
of wood too. He fashioned his log cabin to such tight tolerances that
no filler was needed to plug up any gaps where the draft might blow
in. The only time we called “foul!” was when we saw him carry a
roll of tar paper to be used on his roof. I guess you can't fashion
that out of the Alaskan wilderness. He had to purchase that in
Anchorage. He had enough to eat as his homemade fishing pole and
troll lines would yank in fish after fish. Red meat? He had an old
WW1 Springfield army rifle, w/o a scope, which good enough to take
down an elk at 200 yards. You try shooting at a 4 inch circle with
open sights at that range, you need the eyes of a hawk! One elk was
enough to keep him fed through an entire winter.
When he became too old in his 80's to
maintain that cabin life, others convinced him to come back to the “Lower 48.” He
regretted it immensely but realized that at his age, he'd probably
die trying to survive another Alaskan winter. I sometimes suspect he
wouldn't have minded that at all.
I just finished reading his book and
it's a decent read if you want to hear about how he did it. A good
part of the book is about his wanting to find “quiet.” There's
one passage where he steps out onto the frozen lake by his cabin, on
some god awful bone chilling Alaskan night, just to watch the aurora
flicker around. It was so quiet he swore he could hear it.
Here's the last paragraph in his book.
“I have no doubt that to others I am
an oddball in many ways. The Lord waited a little too long to put me
on one of his worlds. I don't like the look of progress, if that's
what it's called. I would have liked the beginnings better. That is
why this place has taken hold of me. It's still in those early stages
and man hasn't left too many marks on the land. Surely have been to
places up and down these mountains where other men have never been.
How long before all this will change as the other places have
changed?
I've seen alot of sights from this old
spruce chunk, and have thought alot of thoughts. The more I think
about it, the better off I am. The crime rate here is close to zero.
I forget what it is like to be sick or have a cold. I don't have
bills coming in every month to pay for things I don't really need. My
legs and canoe provide transportation. They take me as far as I care
to go.
To see game you must move little and
look alot. What at first appears to be a branch turns into that big
caribou bull up there on the benches--I wonder what he thinks about?
Is his brain just a blank as he lies there blinking in the sun
chewing his cud? I wonder if he feels as I do, that this small part
of the world is more than enough to think about?”
Could I do it? Probably not. I'm the
same age as Proenneke was when he set out and I can't swing an axe
for 30 minutes straight. Add to that, I'm a klutz, I'd swing the axe
into my calf eventually. Also, the isolation...real
isolation...hmmm...unsure about that too.
I may enjoy the quiet, the peace, but
alone with your own thoughts for months? Would I go batshit crazy or
would it be healing in nature? Probably I'll lean to crazy. Cabin
fever back then was real and the cure for it was to get out of the
damn cabin, go for a walk, see the trees and wildlife and experience
something different than those four walls, even if it's -30 degrees
out there. Shit! There were times here in Pawtucket where I wouldn't
want to go get a pizza if it were 5 degrees because it “was too
damn cold” and the car wouldn't heat up until I got to the pizza
joint. So I'm going to leave a warm cabin to romp around in subzero
weather? Nope. I'd probably be found next spring, naked, with twigs
stuck up my nose and a suicide note written in squirrel blood that
makes no sense when read.
Richard in his home made cabin, happy as a pig in shit with the isolation.
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