Living the Dream

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The Bob Quinn lookout sat on a mossy rock at 4,310 feet, just above the tangle of alpine fir at the treeline. In every direction, as far as the eye could see, was wilderness. Mountains stood on three sides and I could see the Iskut River flowing for 100 miles down a valley. There were white ice fields to the west, and the Iskut burn, a grey 100,000-acre beast, sprawled to the north. Far below, the unpaved Stewart-Cassiar highway raised dust plumes when trucks passed.

The shack I was to call home for the summer had a single room with 23 windows. The fire finder, a heavy platform with a map and a revolving scope, sat in the center of the room. All the furniture-mot, cupboards, table, oil stove, and fridge was at crouch level so nothing would obstruct the view. Heavy cables secured the shack, none too securely, to the mountain.

During the day I often stared south at Bob Quinn Lake, with its island in the center, and from there to Desire Lake, 11/2 miles farther south. Here, rumor had it, the hermit lived in an octagonal log cabin he had built himself. Each clear night, I watched the sun set into mountains. After dark, I'd go outside to see Venus, the dippers, and Orion, hanging like delicate buttercups in a field of sky. I found that I enjoyed my solitude and felt freer than I ever had before.

One foggy afternoon, as I sat at my table writing, I saw two human figures emerge from the mist. I opened the door and invited inside what turned out to be two young boys on a hike from the nearby highway camp. A few moments later, more company arrived-two older boys, a black lab, and a nanny goat. Last but not least came the legendary hermit, who introduced himself as Jay. I felt no fear as he smiled at me. After all the wild stories, I was almost disappointed by how civilized he was.

His blond hair and beard were neatly trimmed. He was slim and fit with a luxurious mink and otter cape on his shoulders and a marten cap on his head. He even wore boots.

Jay told me he was from Wisconsin originally and had been in British Columbia for 11 years. He was 31. In pursuit of a lifelong dream to live in the wilderness and master his own fate, he had followed the uncompleted Stewart-Cassiar highway as far as he could. He had put in a hard first winter alone in a dingy cabin on the shore of Bob Quinn Lake while he searched the valleys and forests for a suitable building site. Spring found him on the shore of Desire Lake.

THE DECISION TO HAVE MY BABY IN OUR wilderness home on Desire Lake was not an easy one. I was 29 and this was my first baby. If anything went wrong, it was a 11/2-hour hike through the woods and a 120-mile drive over a potholed road to the nearest hospital. On the other hand, I've always been healthy and I have a husband, Jay, whose years of solitary living have taught him not to panic in times of danger.

During my pregnancy, I visited my doctor five times. They assured me everything was fine. So Jay and I carefully prepared ourselves for the birth. I practiced breathing techniques and relaxation, kept up my exercise, and ate a good diet. Even toward the end, a hike of eight miles was nothing unusual.

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