More tales from “The Little Cabin in the North Woods.”

Esteemed Reader,

Last Monday, Ann and I loaded the car and took off for an overnight trip to the cabin. There was fresh falling snow and the forecast was for cold weather and more snow. The clubs that maintain the system of trails groom those trails each Tuesday morning and we looked forward to a couple of pleasant rides in search of the perfect $100 hamburger.

We had a very nice ride Monday and a pleasant lazy evening in the cabin that night. We arose late Tuesday to a very cold day. It was in fact less than -10º F but bright and sunny and after some discussion we decided to ride despite the cold. Web Lake, WI is a snowmobile Mecca and there are several very nice places to eat and warm up. In a moment of serendipity, we met the pleasant fellow we have contracted with to keep our cabin’s driveway snow-plowed and had a nice conversation with him.

Around 1 O’clock, we started up and began the ride back to the cabin to store the sleds, clean up and go back home. In less than 10 minutes, we were cruising down the wonderfully groomed trails, deep in the Wisconsin woods, far from civilization. I was leading and occasionally looking back to make sure my gorgeous mate was following me.

Suddenly she wasn’t there. So I found a straight-away and stopped to wait for her to catch up. I was not alarmed as she is much more conservative in her riding aggressiveness than I….but then she didn’t show up behind me in a reasonable time. I got off the sled, removed my helmet and listened for her engine sounds. Hearing nothing, I remounted the sled, found a place in the tight wooded area to turn around and started back to look for her. I grew increasingly worried as I did not come across her.

Then I made a sharp turn in the trail and was presented with this tableau: Ann was off the sled and standing some distance away from it. She had her helmet off but her balaclava was still on and only her gorgeous but haunted blue eyes were visible.

The reason for the haunted eyes was immediately obvious. The sled she was riding – the beloved ten-year old Skidoo touring sled owned by her brother – was stopped in the trail, perfectly centered in her lane, ugly orange flames rising several feet from a growing hole in the fiberglass ‘hood’, oily black smoke billowing into the cold, clear, crystalline blue sky.

The fire is growing rapidly and it is obvious that the fuel tank – the tank that we had just topped off with over 7 gallons of 92 octane high test fuel - was feeding the fire. We did not have a fire extinguisher and even if we had, I doubt we could have successfully fought the fire. All we can do is remain a safe distance away and watch.

I had heard in the past that helplessness in an emergency situation can lead to hysteria and inappropriate laughter. I am here to confirm that it does as both Ann and I, not knowing what else to do, just stood there in the snow and giggled. Finally, I thought of the cell phone hidden somewhere in my parka and began spelunking for it. Finally located, the cell phone proved itself useless as there was no service in the wilderness – not even ‘one bar.’ So, Ann and I quickly decided that I was the best choice to ride the remaining serviceable sled back into Webb Lake to locate a phone and alert the ‘First Responders.’ The closest place I knew of in Webb Lake wound up being “The Cabaret Club” that we had just left. I walked through the door, asked for a phone and a map and dialed 911.

This quickly devolved into a Keystone Cops situation as I did not really know exactly where the conflagration was in the trackless wilderness. After a minute or so of fruitless, “It’s on the snowmobile trail southwest of Webb Lake” type discussions, my new met snowplow friend and I decided that we would drive to the place where the trail last crossed a known road and he would wait there to direct the fire truck while I returned to the conflagration.

As I retraced my path back to my beloved, I noted that it should be fairly easy to find the burning sled – in all the vast wilderness, there was only one thick trail of oily black smoke rising into the sky. As I finally arrived at the scene, the fire was still going but it was obvious that it would not remain ablaze for long. The only things remaining intact were the metal parts of the sled – even the thick rubber track that propelled the sled had been consumed. I have never seen Mrs. Whisler looking as dejected as she stood some distance away from the blackened skeleton of the once beloved sled. She tells me that at one point, the flames were rising 30 feet in the air and there were occasional blue flares of flame that explosively blew to the side. By this time, she had withdrawn far away from the blaze.

We can hear the sirens some distance away through the cold air and I try to call the dispatcher on my cell one more time and to my surprise I connect with them. However, this was not a “Can you hear me now?”……“Good!” situation and I soon hung up, defeated.

Not long after this, a party of four fellow snowmobilers comes around the curve and make an emergency stop. After the mandatory, “Everyone ok?” greeting, we all stood looking at the wreck and agree that “We have never seen anything like this!” I ask them if they will continue their ride to the nearest road and see if they can help direct the emergency crews to us. Off they go.

Now that the fire has burned down, it becomes increasingly apparent to Ann and I that we are standing alone in the Wisconsin wilderness on a day where the temperature is near 0º F. It is cold.

Finally, a bright red, 4-Wheel-Drive utility truck comes down the trail and stops. The firefighters exit the truck, grab a small bottle of Halon and squirt out the pitiful few flames remaining. (Tshut, Tshut!...and the fire is out. How anticlimactic) Not soon after that, a police SUV arrives on the scene and we all stand around looking at the carcass discussing how we are going to recover the wreckage and return the trail to a safe sledding condition. They have called the local Polaris Snowmobile store that is responsible for recovering disabled sleds and the owner of that operation arrives soon after with a towing cable. One look at the carcass and he realizes that he is not going to able to attach the cable to the sled as it is now a loose jumble of disconnected and burned parts. We all agree – somewhat repetitively – that ‘We ain’t never seen nuthin’ like this before.”

Off goes the recovery expert and he returns in a bit with a wooden pallet. The firefighters use their heavy firefighter gloves to put the large and small pieces of the hot sled on the pallet and off he goes.

The firefighters rake some of the snow from the woods into the burned and scarred ground that used to be a beautifully groomed trail. We determine that Ann will ride with the police back to Webb Lake and I will ride back to the cabin and get the car. Then I will return to Webb Lake and retrieve my bride. In the meantime, she will fill out the volume of paperwork required by the police in these incidents and pay the snowmobile store for the ‘wrecker’ services.

This is the point where Ann realizes that there is not room in the Police Cruiser in the front seat and she will have to ride back behind the 'chicken wire' in the perp seat.

I end this saga with that scene of bathos and pathos.

I remain,

Dad / Geoff