Eliguk Journal – May 1, 2025.

A trip into town for supplies is always a bit of an adventure, but this time it also meant visiting the specialist at the Obstetrics and Gynecology office, who promised to unveil their medical miracles. I don't often reveal a “personal medical issue” during conversation. I tend to take a back seat and find it mostly irrelevant in a blog depicting life with Mountain Man – almost like discussing the weather in a deep-sea diving class. But it turns out that living this remote lifestyle makes these health hurdles loom larger than a Sasquatch sighting in the forest. It’s crucial to share that there are indeed difficulties when you’re as far from the medical system as a wanderer in Narnia.

I was about to hear news on my stage IV Endometriosis, as corrective surgery was my last hope, and I knew it wouldn’t be without its complications. I had mentally prepared myself for whatever news awaited me. The doctor had found what I knew to be true all along, due to my condition, I had been classified as 'inoperable.' In other words, the message was clear: I’m going to have to manage this pain for the long haul. Everything in my abdomen, including all my organs, is fighting for space as they try to untangle from the grasp of endometrioma glands, lesions, and stoma, much like a punk rock hairstyle teased out of place and stuck together with a bottle of hairspray. In various ways, everything is adhered, stuck, bound, and restricted, preventing them from moving freely or functioning as they should. I don't do pain meds, so I will have to see what magic I can work with in the flora herbal cabinet of my surrounding wilderness.

When you hear that your ovaries have shrunk like prunes, but the cysts on and within them are thriving - it felt heavy, like a weight settling on my chest. I'm not only inoperable for my ovaries, but unserviceable for anything that should happen to my entire pelvic area at all. As the specialist said, medically, it will be tough to find any surgeon willing to take the risk, and she recommended that I not do so if I like the quality of life I currently have. It’s a harsh reality to accept- a life with limitations I never anticipated, such a stalemate so early on. It's sobering when you are told to go home and live your best life while you can, but you already are!

Many people in similar situations can relate to this frustration and helplessness. But amidst the disappointment, I reminded myself I am not alone in this journey. That crazy husband of mine was right there with me, trying to make me smile through the tears. Living out here in the middle of nowhere feels like we’re patients at a remote clinic where the only available remedy for our medical complications is a dusty bottle of “What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger,” chased by a bitter taste of the 'Live With It' tonic! It's like we really are those hardened pioneers from a bygone era who might have to grow a field of opium poppies, collect baskets of henbane, and stop cutting all the willows from the shoreline to utilize all of its bark. But hey, if we can't make it as modern-day pioneers, we can start a really interesting herbal tea business – "Willow & Woe: For When You Just Can't Even!"

Attila treated us to Chinese take-out, and any time I don't have to cook, it humbles me in a way that even simple gestures, like sharing a meal, do. Some friends sent parcels that Deanna had set aside for us, and all these actions significantly impact our lives, especially in an off-grid lifestyle. It emphasizes the importance of human relationships and support systems that create a sense of belonging. Sharing a "big feast" symbolizes physical nourishment and emotional sustenance, reinforcing the idea that love, friendship, and generosity can bridge distances and enhance the richness of life. Deanna’s role in gathering parcels and all the other things she does for us underscores the significance of caretaking and thoughtfulness in fostering deep bonds. At the same time, gratitude highlights the humility that often comes from living a simpler, more self-reliant existence. Overall, it speaks to the beauty of friendship and community, reminding us that we are never truly alone, even when we choose a different path.

On the way through Vanderhoof, we met up with the Hoys (Brad and Nadine), who were planning on a couple of nights' stay at Eliguk. It was perfect timing because our truck was so full that we couldn't fit the numerous bags of chicken feed we had yet to pick up. It made it all the more fun to make the trip back to Chilcotin with friends and take my mind off all the other things. We unpacked our trucks at Carnegie's ranch, and with our two Jeeps loaded, each towing a trailer full, we navigated our way through the now very broken-up trail home.

It only took a few warmer days to get the water flowing enough to turn overflow into ice flows. One such moment was when we arrived at a small bog that wasn't there on our way out. It was a 3-4 foot deep bog with a very large ice ledge we needed to climb in order to make it back to the resort. When I first saw it, I gasped out loud and said, "We aren't going to make it home tonight, are we?" To which my husband booted me out of the Jeep, unhitched the trailer, and told us all to stand back.

It was a good hour delay trying to devise a way to get up onto the ice ledge. Mountain Man unhooked his loaded trailer and went to observe, then navigate the safest path for the two Jeeps hauling trailers. Little did he know that the shackle on the leaf spring flipped under on his first attempt, trying to get up onto the ice ledge. After he chainsawed and carved a ramp for each tire into the ice ledge, he got the Jeep up onto the ice and waited for Brad to come through with a trailer in tow.

We were relieved to have overcome that hurdle, with the careful guidance of our tour operator getting us through the eroded ice flow. As we made our way along the wilderness trail, navigating was like attempting to dance on a wobbly seesaw; each turn offered a new adventure in unpredictability. The melting snow had transformed the terrain into a patchwork of mudslides and puddles that could swallow a boot whole in the blink of an eye when you had to stop because nature called. Each time we stopped, the first mosquitoes of the season found us. It's not all that bad, though—out here in the wilderness, the first mosquitoes are like the lumbering giants of the insect world. They're big, slow, and take their sweet time deciding where to draw blood. Like they’re at a wine tasting: "Hmm, do I prefer the juicy, smoky notes of the forearm or the tempting full-bodied ankle?" But wait a few weeks, and those tiny bloodsuckers will turn into ninja assassins! They'll zip right in and hit you with their little stingers before you can even say, “Is that a mosquito or do you hear a stealth bomber?” At that point, it’s less about avoiding bites and more about getting comfortable with the smell of Deep Woods Off!

Occasionally, we'd stop just to check the load, and hearing a noise below me, hubby checked underneath. He found a stick jammed into the exhaust rubber mount, forcing it to rub on the drive shaft, making an odd sound. This was also the time I noticed the flipped shackle. The spring moved back so far when the Jeep was rammed into the ice ledge that the shackle flipped back and up, jamming into that position. The shackle could not be pried back into position, and the Jeep needed to be lifted, but there was no jack to do that. Brad suggested finding a tree to pull up to and using the winch to lift the weight up a tree; they lifted the weight off, allowing the axle to drop, and the shackle flipped back into position. A bush fix that didn't require parts - just smarts!

We bumped along, slowly and steadily, as the new growth of Aspen trees seemed to lean in. When disturbed, their branches were weighed down with long, fluffy catkins that dusted the Jeep with their pollen. Every twist and turn presented another delightful surprise- one moment, we were navigating a ribbon of slimy mud that felt like walking on banana peels, and the next, we were jostling over rocks that seemed to multiply from the year before under the snow that melted to reveal their new jagged shapes. With every bounce and jolt, it was clear that this ride would be one for the books- full of unexpected thrills and smiles, despite the fact that we might just emerge looking like we’d taken a mud bath. It's amazing how different it is to travel in pairs; you feel safer should anything go amiss, making the journey much more enjoyable.

Beth Carnegie did a wonderful job caring for the garden, dogs, and chickens. It was a relief to return home and feel as if we had never left. Spending the weekend with such close friends helped ease the worries about the test results, and I often found myself forgetting all about them.

As the new month unfolds, we are presented with an incredible opportunity to embark on a journey of preservation and renewal in our beloved wilderness. With a renewed focus on caring for our cherished cabins, we aim to honour the perfect balance between human life and the breathtaking natural world surrounding us.

Does it mean the Lodge is currently taking a backseat? Yes. But it's the only logical step forward, and we know it's a crucial mission: safeguarding the roofs of our cabins. We assess which roof is the most critical of the few left to redo, and go from there each Spring. The small cabin we refer to as the "honeymoon" cabin (because it's so small that the only thing you could fit into it is one bed). But to renovate this roof, we need to locate two sturdy logs, strong and resilient dead standing pines that have thrived against the elements and the passage of time. This task poses a challenge, especially considering the devastation the pine beetle has wrought on our forests, leaving us with a predominantly spruce landscape, beautiful but diminished.

Yet, this obstacle offers us a unique chance to connect with our environment on a deeper level. As we observe the quiet encroachment of the spruce beetle, we are reminded of the ever-changing nature of our wilderness, highlighting our responsibility as caretakers of this land.

This journey isn't just about logs for a decaying cabin roof; it's about fostering a sense of stewardship. Together, we have been working to restore balance to Eliguk, breathing life back into the parts of this pristine lakefront that have suffered. Surrounded by the gentle rustling of a new growth of Aspen leaves and the crisp mountain air, we will find inspiration and motivation in the beauty of our environment.

Each salvageable log represents a structural necessity and a commitment to resilience and regeneration. As we engage in this work, we will weave our efforts into a tapestry of hope, illustrating that from the remnants of decay can grow vibrant new life. We will nurture our wild spaces and ensure that the spirit of our wilderness continues to thrive for generations to come, whoever they may be!