The Johnson Journals, Chapter 5

Don Johnson Journals and Letters
1936 - Camp Koochiching

Feb. 11 Max –22, Min –10. Moderate NW wind. Clear.
That 22 below accompanied by a fair breeze came almost making me forget my promise to Frank. My conscience would have raised hell with me if I backed out on such an excuse so I snowshoed over. Frank was remodeling the frame that holds the plow and assured me that by noon he would be ready to go. I certainly like to see a fellow full of confidence in himself but the hell of it is, that from my observation, such confidence is apt to be misplaced. Frank did nothing to change that viewpoint. It was 6:30 this evening when we finally picked up the tools and said “There she is!” It was a day that reminded me of what I had read concerning the Byrd expedition. He told repeatedly of the men working on the tractors with the temperature down in the forties. It wasn’t that cold today but we felt it plenty, especially on our hands and feet. It was 20 below when I got home at 8:30. I enjoyed the trip home a lot. The snow is drifted harder than I have ever seen it. On the Canadian side, where the west wind has had a chance to pound away at it, it is almost as hard as rock. When looking at the drifts one gets the impression that the lake must have set, waves and all, when it froze over last fall. These same waves made the snowshoeing a rather precarious business on the way home in the dark. I came near falling a dozen times and actually did fall twice. There must be something wrong with me because the letters that Vance writes telling of the wonderful weather in Florida make me not in the least bit envious. Maybe when I get old and decrepit I will long for sunnier climes but for the present — “Let her blow, and to hell with it. We were here first!”

Feb. 12 Max –36 Min –15. Light NW wind. Clear.
Layna was with me most of the day and we were going great guns until disaster hit us. The bow end of the second plank we tried on snapped off like the report of a rifle. It is all well and good to talk about smiling when everything goes dead wrong, but to me, that is the height of insensibility. I swore long and loud and I feel better for it. To put on a smile in a situation like that sure is thwarting one’s nature to the last thread. Might as well get it off your system and go to the next one. Lincoln’s birthday and Byrne came thru with a remark that rivals the one that Buck pulled on the same occasion a couple of years ago. I was doing my best to tell him about the great emancipator in one syllable words and was finding the going rather hard. I finally arrived at the point where I said, “Yes, he freed the slaves. Do you know what that means?” “Sure”, came the reply from our six year old student, “He took them out of bondage!”

Feb. 13 Max –15 Min 0. Wind NE. Cloudy, snow.
We are getting short on kerosene. Looks like it will be a case of hauling it out on the toboggan. A helluva job but better than nothing.

Feb. 14 Max –16 Min –10 Strong NW wind. Clear.
It quit snowing during the night and cleared off before morning. The temperature is on the skids again. The old cycle is in operation. Cold, warm-up, snow, cold again. I wonder how many times it will make the circuit before it hesitates awhile at “warm-up.” This is Friday and we thought some of going after Buck. Layna said that she would go and dressed for the weather accordingly. I went down to the shop to build fire and came to the conclusion that it would be suicide for her to try to make the trip. 16 below and a helluva westerly wind is no weather to be out crossing the lake. Layna has been making some kind of thing-a-ma-jigs on a sort of a loom. Byrne decided that he could do that type of work himself so Layna started him off today. He can make it but, Lord, how slow! He sure reminds me of my progress on the boat. Maybe Doc Hvoslef was right when he said, “Cobbler, stick to your last!” There is some comfort in looking to the other side of that too. We think it perfectly natural that Byrne should attempt something like he is, on the other hand, a man might be considered a fool for trying something out of his line. What the hell! No one in their right mind thinks that learning should stop at the ripe old age of 30. The night I was walking home from Weldon’s I was thinking of the way the Canadians talk. Some of our poetasters must be doing their stuff, especially for our neighbors. They can make been rhyme with seen, and again with rain. I’ll be damned if I could ever do it.

Feb. 15 Max –32 Min –16 Strong NW wind. Clear.
Sunday and a damned cold one. The weather is the chief interest in our lives and no wonder. There is no escaping it. Even when we are in the house we are conscious of the bitter cold outside. That is probably due to the wind more than anything else. After you have been out and taken a beating from it, the cold chills run up your back on hearing it race thru the trees, even tho the heat from the stove is scorching your pants at the time. That’s no joke. You will sit over by the wall until thoroly chilled. A trip is then made to the stove to thaw out. You will be standing with your back to it and kidding yourself that you’ve got the weather licked when an odor of burnt cloth assails your nostrils. It’s you!
We have burned up all the wood that we had hauled from the sand beach. It is necessary now to go get what we need with the sled. The wind gets a real crack at us as soon as we hit the lake. Layna and I made a trip down there today that I won’t forget for a while. There was only one way of making progress against the wind. We would take a few steps then stop, turn around, and get our breath. There was no chance of walking back-wards as one usually does when facing such a wind because the trail is built up above the level of the other snow. A false step and you are off the track and up to the knees. If you are going backwards there is a good chance of falling. The way the trail is built up is worth mentioning. As we travel back and forth on snowshoes or even without them, we pack the snow on the trail, which to start with is lower than the rest of the snow. A week of wind such as we have had now will whirl away the loose snow and leave our trail like a miniature railroad grade. It is a devilish job to keep the sled or toboggan up on it. There is an unprotected piece of my neck between the top of the coat collar and the bottom of my cap. That strip, only about a half inch wide was exposed to the cold for probably 20 minutes. It burns now as tho it had been branded with a hot iron. This would be a great place for a nudist colony. Vance and I have talked about making paddles for a number of years and as we had one piece of material that could be used for such a purpose, I decided to make one. I did part of it yesterday and finished up today. I have never in my life made anything that pleased me more than that paddle. I am so damned proud of it that I find it hard to keep my eyes on this keyboard instead of up on the deer horns where my masterpiece now rests. In fact, I’ll quit and devote the rest of the evening admiring my workmanship!

Vance (Jack Vance was the founder/owner of Camp Kooch-i-ching) had a way of micro-managing work at Camp from his office in Evanston, Illinois. Here is an example from a March 4, 1936, letter from Vance to Don about the paddle project:
“Those paddles should be short ones for the juniors & intermediates. We will offer them for $1.75, all varnished and monogrammed. Have you figured out that monogram yet? All the necessary paint, is there and as I recall it, there are three separate stenciling processes, each having to dry before the other begins.”