Jackal Hut, April 2014
Our Cabin in the Woods
A quest.
“Son,” said Ranger Jaime, “if you’re interested in a lot of amenities…”, by which he meant electricity and plumbing, or really any improvement at all “….then this cabin is not for you.”
Although Ranger Jaime called me “son,” I was guessing that he was younger than I because of the patient and polite way he’d corrected me on the pronunciation of his name, where the first syllable was spoken as “hi.” I assumed he did this several times a day. I came from the generation where, according to Dad, whatever people called you was fine as long as it wasn’t profane, they had a firm handshake and looked you in the eye. A loose knowledge of your name was acceptable, and even just “Bud”, regardless of what was on your birth certificate, was appreciated. Not that there is anything wrong with insisting on the correct pronunciation of your own name; it is just a one generation removed evolution. Did you know that “The Dude” in the “Big Lebowski” is really a “Jeff?”
But Jaime was very helpful. He told us that Forest Service cabins, probably most of which were older than him, were to be museums of a Yogi Bear past, forever unchanging in façade even if the cars outside were Toyota Hybrids rather than wood paneled Ford station-wagons hunched over skinny tires. This cabin was in the Roosevelt National Forest; the local Boulder Ranger District would be our HOA and Jaime would be our Chairman of the HOA Board. He would be our cabin god.
It was February, and I’d begun a quest for a cabin in the woods.
In 1963 my parents bought a Forest Service cabin on the lower slopes of Mount Hood in Oregon for $3,000. Although lacking square angles, level floors and any kind of insulation, we were in a era not too concerned with preservation of the rustic and so at some point electricity had been brought to the Rhododendron Summer Home Association and there was also piped water and an indoor toilet. At 1,600' of altitude and within a mile of US-26, the cabin looked primitive but was not remote. Built in the 20's, It had a fireplace and an oil burning floor furnace — a furnace in a box in the floor — which was quite a luxury. A large deck overlooked Still Creek (my parents pronounced it “crick”) and the cabin was just 200 yards of rocky road from pavement. Although just a weekend retreat, when I think of my childhood it was all centered here, not at our home in suburban Portland. In this era kids of almost any age were free to roam at will and the scents of the lush Oregon woods were so strong that I can still remember them; I explored for miles around our cabin, sometimes using our tiny first-generation Honda motorcycles with their low range trail gearing. I was 12 and it was illegal. But it sure was fun.
On Friday nights we’d throw a couple of boxes of food in the car and a bag of clothes and we’d be off for the hour-long drive up. Duties were segregated, which meant my Dad drove, turned on the electricity and started the fire, and Mom did everything else that didn’t require a power tool. At the cabin Dad would relax his food rules (every dinner plate must have the same number of items as a Swanson TV dinner) and a kid could get away with just chili or spaghetti for the entire weekend. I could bring friends, we could stay up late and talk into the night in the back bedroom on our squeaky army-surplus metal beds in our flannel-lined sleeping bags. Mom and Dad would walk the half mile into town for drinks and dancing at the Log Lodge, and we’d have the cabin to ourselves for a few hours of unlimited chips and soda. It was paradise. My parents sold it in 1975; although renovated, oddly enough it is now for sale (August, 2014) and you can see it here as it is now.
Fifty years later those memories, along with a desire to recreate the Colorado backcountry hut experience we’d enjoyed over so many years, led me to Ski Road near Allenspark, Colorado, and from there to Jaime. The cabin on Ski Road was built in ‘65 at 8,800' and is a 15 minute ski or snowshoe in the winter. It is without electricity or running water; a rustic outhouse is 20 feet away.
It faces Rock Creek and has some of the lushness of Oregon except with a sense than an enterprising gardener had pruned back the ferns and underbrush. Many of the aspens are ancient and huge. The museum quality that Jaime mandated was present both inside and out; the interior was a monument to furniture of the 60's and 70's probably assembled in waves as great grandparents and great aunts died and velour gold or avocado green upholstered pieces made their way up the mountain one by one to become elegant mouse-condominiums. Kerosene lamps were the only source of light. But the location was perfect, the living room large, and it had three tiny bedrooms designed for parents, a pair of kids, and a pair of kid’s friends. These rooms were not to be for kids; I was looking on behalf my wife and I and two other couples. All of the kids either had left the nest or soon would be. Six adults would be heading to camp and this cabin fit that requirement like a barbeque mitt.
But there were issues. Jaime had led me to Iris with Boulder County Public Health. Iris had that exhausted voice common to underpaid and overworked government workers, but was still pleasant and cordial as (after she made sure I knew how to pronounce Jaime’s name) she explained how Boulder County regulated outhouses — otherwise known as On-Site Sewage Treatment Systems. Boulder, like other mountain counties in Colorado, was rife with historical mining shacks and cabins and many date to the 1880's. Miners were, ah, informal when it came to sewage, and Boulder County had implemented a decade long plan to clean up this bit of history. Owners had to either right the wrongs of previous generations or convince buyers to do said activity, which involved a bit of engineering, a large vault, a backhoe, and of course money.
We were not dissuaded. Besides the outhouse replacement we knew we’d be faced with Forest Service fees of $2,200 per year with Jaime reviewing every proposed change, but the price was low and so were the taxes — not owning the land has those upsides, along with the fact that your neighbors are held to the same standards. But the day before we were to submit our offer the cabin went under contract at asking price after being on the market for 17 months. That is the how the dice roll in real estate.
Disappointed, we moved on. Although Jaime seemed nice enough as a potential HOA Chairman, we wanted a little more freedom to create basic amenities and dialed back the idea from being in the USFS to being adjacent to it. That led us to Fourth of July Road near Eldora, which at 10,100' is just below the Continental Divide. The cabins up there are an amalgam of the amazing and the frightening. Having 10 feet of snow depth does things to structures, and these structures were all on old mining claims backed up against the National Forest. It would be at least a four mile ski or snowshoe in the winter, or a 15 minute ride in a snowmobile that we’d have to buy. The cabins range from 40 to 120 years old. But the area is beyond pretty; it is breathtakingly alpine and North Boulder Creek runs past or through every property. The creek is colder than ice and clearer than air and burbles even in the quiet of winter. The sign for the Mary Jane Ski Area on US-40 says “Extremely Colorado”, but that label is more apt for Fourth of July Road. No power or water here, serious upkeep required, the outhouses must be replaced and access would be difficult. Every few weeks during the winter we’d need to dig out or we’d not have an openable front door until June.
We finally decided this was a bit beyond us. Over the next month I drove by many shack cabins in shack cabin villages that looked remote only through the use of the creative photography common to the MLS.
Every one sprouted a satellite dish and had a stable of ATVs out back and few corners appeared square.
And then we found it. Almost.
Our Checklist:
Very Attractive MLS Photography? Check.
View? Check. Long’s Peak to the southwest.
Neighbors? Well, one visible — about 250'. Acceptable.
Off the Grid? Check.
USFS Adjacent? Check.
Reasonable Access? Check. Six miles off-pavement, but plowed.
Above 8000'? Check. 8,100'
Less than two hours from Denver? Check.
Price? Check.
Available? Under contract (!)
But after a week the agent calls back; the deal fell through because the buyer thought he could get a mortgage for this type of property because of his assets, his stable well paying job, and his perfect credit rating. Not so: mortgages are for homes that underwriters would want to live in and underwriters as a species do not hear the call of the wild unless it is via the Discovery Channel. Or so I believe. But split three ways we had a modest cash budget and could make it happen.
And we did.
Our cabin isn’t perfect. It is weathered, needs some maintenance and there is a deeded easement for travel across our five acres. But that is from 1960 and for horse travel only, so we can live with that. In almost every other way it is what we were looking for.
Last weekend, the first weekend in August, we spent many pleasant hours in the crawl space installing low voltage wiring, circuit breakers and a solar charge controller while breathing in desiccated rodent dung. Either that or we spent time sweeping desiccated rodent dung into dustpans. Later, we spent somewhat less time trying to understand the risks of hantavirus in Colorado. We are sure we will all be fine. In the evenings we drank wine and watched the stars. We have a lot of work to do, but the view is great, those stars are as thick as peas in pea soup, and that work is hard but fun. We even have antlers on the wall and we all agree that this cliché is perfectly fine. Every geek off-grid idea we’ve ever thought of will be implemented over time. Our corporate structure is very thin and we are all on the Board with only each other providing periodic performance reviews on an as-needed basis. It is the job for me.
Our little cabin isn’t for everyone and we know those that think we are entirely odd for forgoing the comforts of a modern dwelling. But we see it as the easiest, poshest camping in the world.
If you want to see great examples of amazing cabins across the globe that might just put an itch in your saddle, head on over to cabinporn.com
