There is an alternate route up to the mining claim that is a tiny bit shorter. It's more like 1/3 of a mile, as opposed to 1/2, and there are fewer big rocks or sharp turns in the path. That's the benefit. The cost is that the first 200-250 yards are as steep as a set of stairs, without the nice flat places to put your feet, or the handrail to help an overweight, chronically ill woman haul herself up the incline. The first time I went this route, I thought it was going to kill me. I was only carrying the plastic tube for a french drain, but I might as well have been lugging sacks of concrete. I tried to push too hard, and ended up wearing myself out too quickly. I staggered the second half of the route, where it was level and even some downhill, barely able to pick my feet up, taking mincing baby steps. This time I planned ahead. I only climbed from shady patch to shady patch, and when it was solid shade, not merely dappled, I sat down on the ground and let my heart rate get completely back to normal. I probably stopped every 50 yards or so, with 15-30 feet of vertical climb, for a total of four times putting my butt on the ground. It helped a lot. By the time I reached the relatively level clearing (key word: relatively), I still had a little muscle power and mental acuity left. This trip I carried bags of short 2x4s, the heavier one first. Without any evidence, I'd say it was in the neighborhood of 30-35 pounds. Later in the day I went back and got a second one, less full by almost half, and only had to stop three times on the ascent. Maybe I'm giving myself too much credit, but that seems like progress, on each run. It made me wonder, as I hiked out the last time, what would I have been capable of without the lupus and fibromyalgia? I could have been a superhero.
Last time I really struggled with finding my way. The marking flags were too few, and there was enough space in between that in my exhausted state, I got lost several times. On his last time up, the Mr doubled the number of plastic flags, tearing up a strip of yellow caution tape as he went. That made all the difference in the world. I was able to plan my climb, and made promises to myself that as soon as I reached the next flag, I'd put down the bag of wood and take a breather. And I didn't get lost a single time. I was much less stressed about the experience. I did, however, keep stopping on the second trip, thinking I heard Murray's doggie wheelchair behind me. When I stopped to listen, the sound stopped. I eventually decided I was imagining it. I hadn't made it the first 50 yards of climb going back when I saw an old black dog daintily stepping down the hill, absolutely certain that if her mommy was at the truck, that meant that Elsa was going home and getting dinner. She was sadly mistaken. She didn't get dinner until we got home at almost 10, and her papa and I didn't eat until after 11, once I'd showered and made edamame spaghetti.
This shed is a royal pain to get up the mountain. Where we parked was the closest we have ever gotten a vehicle. Every board, every box of nails, every everything goes up by hand. Or on the little bike trailer he converted to carry the biggest of the boards, pushed by hand. It was last fall that we carried the foundation up, and he managed to get bags of concrete up in a wheelbarrow (that he later used to mix said concrete). By May we were able to start bringing more pieces, most of which were salvaged items, particularly the tongue and groove 2x6 lumber that he acquired for free when they tore down a bank building in town. He cut and pre-fitted all of the pieces down here, in the back yard, and took numbered boards up a few at a time. Wednesday he installed half of the floor, and our primary goal today was to finish the insulation between the steel subfloor (really, under the joists, to keep out critters and provide protection from water and fire) and lay down the rest of the floorboards. It was a monumental task, and we actually completed it. He even made cutouts to install a very simple sink drain and water intake line, so that tooth brushing and coffee cup rinsing can happen inside the structure, and empty out to the french drain. It's rustic, to be sure, but will feel like a minor luxury compared to tent-or-tepee camping previously.
Once the floor was complete, and we stood on the elevated surface with the phenominal view, I regretted that neither of us ever learned to dance, not really. It felt like the perfect spot for it. Instead, we took our second trips to haul more stuff up, and worked to build the frame of the west wall until all three drill batteries were hopelessly dead. There was just enough juice to raise the wall and set braces to hold it up. We finally got to imagine just how tall this place is going to be. It will still cover the 10x12 footprint allowed by county regulations (maximum size without well and septic, which could never be installed without a $100,000+ road project). But standing next to a full-height wall, made it feel large and imposing. I never thought 120 square feet could seem so big. It's even more impressive when you remember it goes up one piece at a time, by hand.
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