Friday the 13th at a Cabin in The Woods
by Basil Sprig
I planned my vacation down the coast not-quite-camping. I
didn’t want to haul around camping gear and sleep in tents, so I rented yurts
all down the Oregon Coast. But when I got to Northern California I could find
no available yurts. Not wanting to pay for hotel rates on the coast, and not
wanting to stay in a dive, I thought hard… hmmm… what about cabins?
I found a web site. The pictures showed cozy little beige
and green cabins nestled in the redwood forest. The interior of the cabins
reminded me of 1960s hotels rooms, but with wooden panel walls. That should
work, I thought.
I arrived at my cabin destination on Friday the 13th
– it was easy to find along Highway 101 with the giant Bigfoot cutout standing
in front of a flashing sign that said, “Cabins, Restaurant and Country Market.”
The cabins looked about like I saw on-line, except that they
were a little more run down. What they didn’t show you on-line was that there
were a whole bunch of dilapidated cabins overgrown with blackberries and other
shrubs, dotted here and there all over the woods. Hopefully mine isn’t one of those!
I stopped at the store, as it was the only habitable
building visible right off the parking lot. An unusual sounding gong was triggered
by an electronic eye as I entered. I couldn’t imagine why, as you could see
from one end of the store to the other just standing right there. Inside there
was a single row of miscellaneous goods – the kind you find a store when it is
the only store within 50 miles either direction. After that there was a row of
picnic tables they had somehow got inside. On one side of the picnic tables
was a long counter with a window open into the kitchen on the other side. A guy
was grilling up foods in the kitchen, and two women were sitting at the picnic
tables staring at me like I was crazy for stopping here. They didn’t have any
food in front of them. I could somehow tell by the looks on their faces that
they worked here. Must have just gotten off. Or maybe they’d gotten off hours
ago and there was no place else in the vicinity to sit down.
The kitchen felt like it had grease dripping from the walls.
I’ve been in places where I was a little afraid to eat. Here I was a little
afraid to stand too long breathing.
I asked the guy in the kitchen if this was the right place
to stop and check-in to the cabins. He said, just a minute – it will be right
over there at the front desk. He pointed to the cash register by the front door.
After a few moments he pulled off his apron and walked over to the front
counter. Probably didn’t want me to see how muck-encrusted the apron was.
“Name?” he said.
“Miller.”
He turned around and began pulling slips of paper out of wooden
cubbies on the wall behind him, to read what was on them. Old school.
Finally, he found mine, and handed me the key to my room.
I pulled out my phone and asked what the phone number for
the front desk was, so I’d have it in case of emergency. Noticed that there was
no cell signal here but didn’t want him to know I had no signal.
“Won’t do you any good to have the phone number,” he said.
“Nobody will be here after 6 o’clock.”
“That’s OK, can I just get the number anyway?”
“Won’t do you no good. What do you need the number for?”
“Well, who knows. What if there’s some emergency or
something and I I need to talk with someone.”
“Oh, then you’d want to knock on the door of the
Groundskeepers Quarters and talk with him.”
The groundskeeper?
“OK, where’s that?”
“Well, you’re in number 1? That would be right next door.”
“OK,” I said.
I’d figure it out when I got there.
I decided to ask if they had WiFi. Couldn’t hurt to ask,
right?
“Only works right here at the store,” he said. “Won’t reach
all the way over to the cabins.”
Why was I not surprised?
On my way back to my car I noticed there was an old-style
phone booth out in front, next to the Bigfoot cutout. I heaved a sigh of relief
and went to examine it. Completely gutted. No phone.
The directions for driving up to my cabin were convoluted. I
drove up a tiny paved path, no wider than my car, between rundown and falling
down buildings. Several times I nearly took a wrong turn but decided I didn’t
want to do that and get lost back there in the woods. I noticed a nice custom
plastic sleeve covering up a car like a body-bag. Wondered if there was someone
who had once checked in but never checked out.
None of the small buildings were marked, so far as I could
tell. He said “1” was the first cabin past the Groundskeeper’s quarters, so I
pulled in behind the first cabin after the first habitable looking building.
At first I couldn’t be sure it was my cabin. Do I just try
the key and see if it works? Then at last I noticed a "1" that had been painted
over the same color as the building, just beside the door.
My cabin was a lot smaller than I had imagined. The roof was
so covered with leaves and pine needles that I hoped it didn’t rain while I was
here, because it probably leaked.
There were several broken boards on the front porch that I
had to step over.
There was a welcome sign when you opened the door with a
mama bear and two cubs. There was a different welcome sign over the bed with
another mama bear and two cubs. Apparently bears were very welcome here.
Inside the creaky floor was sloped a couple of different
directions. I tripped and nearly fell several times while bringing in my
luggage.
Got all my gear in and decided to use the bathroom. I was
thankful that I had my own bathroom after staying in yurts for a week and
having to walk half-way across a campground to use one.
The bathroom was so tiny you had to sit on the toilet
sideways because there was no room for your feet in front of the toilet. And
unless you really twisted sideways almost to a 90-degree angle, you couldn’t
close the bathroom door while you sat on the toilet.
While I finished unloading my gear, the Groundskeeper
appeared out in front of his cabin – or really, more in front of mine – smoking
a long, curved pipe. His pipe reminded me of a small saxophone, and the
Groundskeeper himself reminded me of Santa Clause with his long white hair and
long white beard. He was playing with a frisky Doberman – throwing it sticks,
which it chewed on.
“Make sure you don’t leave any food in your car,” he said.
“Bears will rip the metal doors right off if they smell food in there.”
I hadn’t been planning on moving my ice chest and all my
food into the cabin, but I went ahead and did that too.
After dinner, mostly from my ice chest, I sat on the porch
and opened a bottle of wine.
The website said the cabins had a view. They did: a view of about
15 feet of dead lawn that looked to be mostly rocks, a row of shrubs, and then US
101 with cars speeding by at 60 mph. All day and all night, it turned out.
I was surprised the groundskeeper let his dog run around and
play with only a narrow band of shrubs separating the front “lawn” from the
highway.
The groundskeeper was a jolly fellow. He regaled me with
bear tales and conspiracy theories for hours while I sat there sipping my wine.
He seemed like a really nice guy, but then again, so did
Norman Bates.
“I’m not really a groundskeeper,” he told me at one point.
“More of a warden. Me and Magni keep away the bears. The idea is to keep the
bears happy – away from humans, and to keep the guest happy – free from bear
encounters.”
His dog, Magni, he told me, was named after Thor’s son. I
realized that the old man looked just like Odin, but was too afraid to tell him
that.
He told me more bear stories – and about his protecting them
from poachers, and about the black market in bear gall-bladders sold to the
Chinese in San Francisco, and how the local natives considered him somewhat of
an honorary member of their tribe because of his work protecting the bears.
He told me about how the California Black Bear was the
largest black bear on the west coast. Just smaller the grizzly.
A full moon began to creep up over the treetops and
silhouette of abandoned cabins to the east.
Before the last of the daylight faded, he said he had
business to attend to, and retired quickly with Magni to his cabin next door.
I decided it was also a good time for me to go inside also.
I hoped I didn’t have to come back outside until it was bright morning.
I locked the door, then the dead bolt. Then stuck my
suitcase in front of the door. There was no telling who might have a key to
this place, and since I was a light sleeper. I’d definitely hear someone
breaking in if they had to knock my suitcase over.
The interior of the cabin was a strange mix of the new and
the old. A sticker on the door warned: No Smoking! Including vaping. There was
electricity. I was able to charge my phone at least, even if I couldn’t use
it. There was a mini fridge, a
microwave, a coffee pot, and a TV. Next to the coffee pot there was a nice
basket with a large packet of coffee, a couple teabags and various creamers and
sweeteners.
The bathroom had a small shower stall. In the morning I
would discover there was no room to bend down and pick up your soap if you
dropped it. But the nice white clean towels were just like any hotel room had.
The bathroom sink filled up with water and drained very
slowly. But at least it eventually drained. And the toilet flushed.
There were marks on the windowsill that looked like a bear
claw had scratched the paint off, and something laying next to the window that
looked like a bear claw that had ripped off. On the inside of the window! The
screen seemed to be in good shape, so I ignored this, but filed it away in the
back of my mind.
I continued to stumble over the crooked floor every once in
a while as I checked out my accommodations.
I didn’t really feel like watching TV but decided to try out
the TV just out of curiosity. I turned it on, and message spread across the
screen saying that there was something blocking the satellite dish, and we
should have it serviced.
I decided to lay on the bed for a while reading until I was
too tired to keep my eyes open. Nothing scary tonight.
I slept fairly well that night, in spite of being really
creeped out about this place. But I discovered quickly that for some reasons every other car that came around the corner in front of the cabins hit the turtles in the middle of the road and made a nice thump-thump-thump-thump sound. Every couple of minutes.
In the morning, I woke up excited to brew myself a pot of
coffee. For nearly the past week, I hadn’t been able to just get up and drink
coffee – my normal routine. It would be nice to get back to that routine.
I pulled the pot out to fill it with water and discovered
that the bottom of the glass was shattered. I rubbed my finger along it to see
if it was still usable, and tiny bits of glass flaked off. Damn!
I sat down on the end of the bed and thought about my
predicament. Could I just make coffee
and brew it right into the coffee mugs? Then I noticed that they had two very
large ceramic bowls with handles. I wasn’t really sure what for? Did they sell
clam chowder up at the store? Or maybe they dreamed of selling clam chowder?
I was able to rig up a make-shift coffee brewing station and
brewed it right into each of the two large ceramic bowls. At least I had my
coffee!
After coffee I packed up my things. The bears had thankfully
left my car alone.
The “restaurant” at the store didn’t open until 9 am, so I
waited until then to go get breakfast. That greasy café didn’t really seem
appetizing, but I might as well make this adventure complete. You couldn’t ruin
a couple strips of bacon could you?
I walked down the hill to there about 9:15 and went inside.
There was a different guy on-duty and he was standing up at the front counter
talking on the phone. Nobody else in the whole place. When he got off the phone,
I asked him if I could see the breakfast menu.
“Oh, breakfast? Well, it will be a while before they start
cooking breakfast – at least 15, 20 minutes. The cook is out back pulling pork
for today’s pulled pork sandwiches, and I don’t know how to use the grill.”
I decided that was about enough of my adventure, turned in
my key, and headed out on the road.
I was still alive, and that was all that mattered.
