The Wood Cutters

by Captain Perry Wrinkle



The holiday season never rolls around without reminding me of my high school days. Mother was very big on Christmas. I always tried to earn money for buying presents. One year I asked my grandfather if I could go to his camp over Christmas vacation and cut wood to sell. He said I could, and even let me borrow his old truck to haul the wood to market. Well, you know the saying about “the best-laid plans of mice and men.” His camp was a hunting camp made of Celotex which was just a fancy word for thick cardboard. He only stayed there during November to deer hunt.

The night we went in it was great, oil lamps, wood stove, and a spring near by. We lugged our water; built a nice wood fire from some dry wood we cut on the way in and played cards in the lamp light. We let the fire die down and crawled into our bunks. About midnight one of the guys woke up and hollered for another blanket. I hated to tell him, I could have used another one myself, but we didn’t have anymore. I got up and lit the lamp, and within a minute my teeth were chattering.

The bucket of water we had lugged in was frozen over. I opened the stove but the fire was dead out. We had neglected to bring kindling wood. I hunted around and found a small cardboard box and tore up the bags we had our groceries in. I stuffed it in the stove and put a few pieces of wood in and lit it – the fire didn’t go. Billy remembered that there was a big birch tree right behind the camp. We got our clothes on, grabbed our flashlight and opened the door. Whoosh, a blinding swirl of snow came whipping in. I shined the light and could barely see the truck, which was only ten feet away. There was about six inches of snow on the hood. The light hit Gramp’s old thermometer that was hanging by the door. I cuffed the snow off it with my hat, and it read a little above 0.

Billy grabbed the axe and we started for that old birch tree. We peeled off all the bark we could lug and struck for the camp. The feeling slowly crept back into my hands, feet, and ears. In about half an hour we were all warm and toasty. Seth said we should start the old truck and head out of there, but I strongly disagreed with his thinking because we were over two miles in the woods on an old rough road and it would be hard to follow at night in a blizzard. The truck was an old 3/4 ton Ford that was powered by what was commonly called a “Palm Beach six.” It was a flat-head six-cylinder and the nickname Palm Beach six came from the fact that Palm Beach or a like climate was much better to get them running than here in Maine. We decided to wait until it got light before making a decision.

We just took turns napping and putting wood in the stove and waiting for daylight. Billy really wanted to stay the week and Seth wanted to go home. I awoke to the smell of hot coffee and bacon frying. Billy was making breakfast. The camp was still warm, but our wood was going fast. It should have been daylight, but it wasn’t. I opened the door and was greeted by the same icy blast of snow, the wind had picked up even more and the truck was just a big pile of snow. I stepped off the stairs and the snow was over my 12-inch boots. I swept the snow from the thermometer, it read 5 below. Seth was putting the last few sticks in the stove as I came in to finish my breakfast. He said, “You better get the old truck going and put the tire chains on and see if we can get out of here.” I told them both that we must first cut enough wood to last out the day because we may not be able to start the truck and if it did start, it might not be able to get far in so much snow.

We got dressed in everything we had, grabbed our bucksaws and the axe, put on our mittens and stepped outside. It was full light but we couldn’t see far, so we stayed close together. It was hard to tell dry wood from anything else, but we did finally find a few standing maples that were without bark and we cut them long length and took them into the camp where we cut them to stove length. We worked until about noon before I was satisfied that we had enough. I checked the thermometer and it was still a little below 0.

I took the broom and went out to clean off the truck. The snow was letting up, but the wind had turned northwest and was really started to howl. I finally got in the old Ford and pushed the starter. I pumped the gas pedal, but it was barely turning over, it sounded like it was saying, “I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.” I knew if I ran the battery down we were in trouble, so I turned off the key and went back inside to get warm. We talked it over and decided it would probably warm up tomorrow.

The sun was starting to break through and that made us all feel better. We decided to stay and spent the rest of the afternoon getting more firewood. We got more birch bark also, just in case. We took turns filling the stove, but by 3 a.m. we were all up and huddled around it. If you turned your back to the heat you could see your breath, and the water pail was frozen even with the fire going. We had canned beans and burnt toast with our coffee.

At daylight it was 15 below and blowing a gale. The wood was nearly gone again, we knew we were in a bad way if it got colder tonight. I told the guys to shovel snow up high around the bottom of the truck to keep the wind out. I then got a big pile of birch bark and a few dry cedar limbs. I swept out under the front of the truck and piled bark on the ground under the engine. I laid a few limbs of cedar on top and by this time the guys had enough snow around the truck to block any wind from blowing under it.

We went into the camp to warm up, then came out and I lit the bark under the engine. Smoke belched up around the hood as the cedar got going, but the flame was low so I added a couple branches and we went inside to warm up again. I looked out the door and the paint was peeling up on the hood. We rushed out and extinguished the fire with snow. I jumped in and pushed the starter and she started right up. We put the tire chains on and started on out. It took us two hours to get to the main road. We were all some glad to get home and that was the end of my high school wood cutting career.

The next day grandfather asked me how I got the old truck going. I told him I just pushed the button and she started right up. He then asked how the paint got burned off the hood and I told him she got a little hot getting through the snow. I don’t think he swallowed it all because he never let me use it again.

Good Fishing.

The Wood Cutters was originally published here in 2002.