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radio says the temperature is going to drop to at least 25 below zero tonight.
Fortunately, I wear long underwear beneath my jeans, two long-sleeved shirts
and a heavy jacket. I park my truck just off Goldstream Road about three
miles from the Fairbanks' city limits. There is nowhere to plug the vehicle
in, which is necessary when temperatures drop this low. I get out and hope
it'll start when I return. It's a moonless night, so I don a headlamp to
light my way. I cross the roadway and find the small footpath Kyle told
me about that disappears in the black forest. |
 
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Walking down the snow-packed path, I notice a blue tarp covering freshly cut logs before I carefully step across a set of railroad tracks. There are sled tracks in the snow, and I follow these along the trail up a slight hill and down the other side. It's a still night and the quietness that engulfs me is unsettling. A sudden breeze rocks the spruce trees, and paranoia gets the best of me. I'm sure there is an axe murderer or a giant moose with a large rack bearing down on me. Seeing a small light through the woods, I step up the pace. I round a bend, pass a sign that reads "Happy Creek Mining Camp" and, about a half mile off the road, I finally catch a glimpse of the small cabin Kyle and Becca have told me so much about. I met Kyle as a student in the journalism program. He was working on a video project outside my office and asked to interview me. I feel guilty about it now, but at the time I was running late and declined the offer. Since then, I discovered that Kyle and his wife, Becca, are squatters. They live illegally in a cabin they don't own and are there unbeknownst to the property owner. Not only that, but they stay there without running water, electricity or plumbing. |
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Photo by John Gaedeke Click photo to enlarge. Nightly Kyle and Becca must haul wood from their snowy stash. |
I've always thought of these items as more necessity than luxury, and the thought of surviving a harsh Fairbanks winter without them fascinated me. Fortunately, Kyle doesn't hold grudges and granted me several interviews. He and Becca have asked that I don't use their last name. Kyle met Becca in 1998 at a campus screening of the movie "Lost Highway," directed by David Lynch. As president of the university's film club, Kyle led discussion after the movie ended. He admits that it's "kind of a creepy movie," and with almost 100 people packed into a university auditorium, few were willing to be forthright about the film. |
| "It's a weird movie, and people are afraid to answer certain things," he says. "Becca started saying something and then shut up. I made her stand up and explain why Fred Madison killed his wife." Kyle liked Becca's moxie and when met her again at a Halloween party later that year, they talked late into the evening. They dated for two years before getting married last summer. Becca found the cabin through a friend of a friend and, once she saw the place, knew she wanted to live there. She had been living with a roommate who had suddenly turned strange and violent, and this situation and her dissatisfaction with school left her disillusioned. Just when she decided to move back to the lower 48 states, she discovered the place and thought she'd give it a try. She says it's the cabin that held her in Fairbanks. | |
| Listen to Becca talk about her first month in the cabin. |
| Becca has since found comfort in the cabin, even knowing that she and Kyle could be kicked out at any time if they were found living there. "I used to have dreams about (getting evicted). I'd wake up and feel displaced but then realize I was in my house," she recalls. "I'm not afraid of that anymore." Kyle agrees that there is little reason to worry about squatting. "I think people know that people live down there. People know that there's been cabins down there forever. I don't think it's a huge secret," he says. It's true that people know of their cabin and several others near it. When I mention squatters to acquaintances, many have suggested I check out the Happy Creek cabins. I ask Kyle and Becca if they know who owns the property or if the friend who showed it to Becca knows. They are hesitant to answer. It seems that some mistrust has kept them out of trouble this long. |
| Hear Kyle discuss their don't ask, don't tell policy. |
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With no running water, no electricity and no plumbing, the cabin is perfect for a weekend retreat away from it all. However, Becca has lived here for almost three years, and it's Kyle's second winter. Tall birch trees and a small creek circle the cabin, which measures a quaint 10 feet wide by 20 feet long with a small loft. A chopping block with a three-foot maul driven into it sits near a turquoise children's sled. Becca calls the maul her nearest and dearest tool. Yellow light streams from the upper level of the cabin, highlighting a sharply angled roof. The wood stove inside serves as the only heat source and emits the toasty aroma of burning wood. |
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| The stove is the most significant household appliance in the cabin because it allows them to live here without electricity. "There's no heat like wood heat. It's more penetrating," says Kyle. "You work hard for it, but once you get it, it's really warm and very soothing." "Electric heat isn't the same," says Becca. " It doesn't have the same force behind it." Because they can't rely on finding all the wood necessary to keep them warm, they must buy it. Amazingly, they've discovered a business willing to leave cords of wood beside the road for them. They avoid explaining why it's necessary to leave it there, and the business seems to know not to ask. They then haul these to a wood cubby, covered with a blue tarp, until it's needed at the cabin. In the winter, it's a nightly ritual to fill the sled with wood and haul it down the trail to the cabin. Once there, they split the logs before starting the fire. Kyle says the process takes about an hour, and if it's really cold, they will huddle by the stove for almost 20 minutes longer before it's warm enough to take off their many layers of clothes and relax. The hard work needed to live in the place seems of little import to Kyle and Becca. They downplay the effort required to sustain themselves there and are glad about the lack of rent, but it's the uniqueness and beauty of the cabin that make toughing out the details worth it. | |||
| Hear Becca discuss the magical quality of their cabin. |
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Becca could be a fairy herself. She has small features, a petite
build and a thing for butterflies. I can imagine her living out her days in the cabin,
flitting about the forest with no cares in the world.
"I think I could live there a really long time," she says. It surprises me how homey the place feels. An old oil barrel sits on its side and is fitted with an iron door and four feet. This serves as the wood stove, and it crackles as Kyle loads another log. The room is sparse but relaxing. There is carpeting, two comfortable chairs and a desk. The walls are covered in butterflies Becca pasted there. A ladder hand-made from branches of a poplar tree leans against the loft, and Darwin, a striped cat with extra toes on its front paws, expertly maneuvers up and down it several times while I am there. |
| The kitchen is located at the far end of the room. An enormous stainless steel bowl serves as their sink, and it rests on the counter beside a five-gallon jug of water. Kyle and Becca fill this container and haul it to the cabin once each week for drinking and cooking. They cook on a propane stove, a two-burner mechanism blackened from use. The lights, hanging near the loft, are also powered by propane, and the filaments glow like fireflies caught in a jar. The loft is essentially their bedroom, and Kyle explains it is where they hang out most of the time. His shoulder-length blonde hair is tucked behind his ears, and he wears a purple and yellow scarf. Kyle dresses in a utilitarian way. His shirt doesn't necessarily go with his pants, but they serve a purpose — warmth. |
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Tonight, he stares at his homework on the desk. They usually try to finish their studies before coming home at night. They seem to try and reserve the cabin for relaxing, not work. To me, it's ironic that they find keeping up with the cabin soothing when I know what's it like to chop wood, let alone haul it and water. | ||
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While they were still dating, Becca lived in the cabin about a month before
inviting Kyle over to visit on a snowy February day. "We drive over to her place, 'Now, just
follow me,' she says, and we go through the woods and over the (railroad) tracks. And I
said, 'Where are you taking me?'" Kyle recalls. "I thought it was a really beautiful place,
and I immediately thought, 'Wow, I could live here.' Then I thought it would be really tight
with two people living there. You'd have to be really together." Kyle must have found that
intimacy with Becca quickly because by the end of August, he moved in, and less than a
year later, they were married on the property.
The fact the two are in love is obvious. Still honeymooners, they gaze tenderly at one another and touch each other with small, personal gestures that only couples understand. What impresses me most about their relationship is the introspection they've put into their lives and the respect they offer each other. At the end of next summer they expect to move out of Alaska and down to Illinois, where Kyle's parents have offered them a house rent-free for a while. Becca says she will miss the cabin but is willing to move with Kyle, who calls the move the end of an era. "I need to go do some things before I retire from the world," he says. Kyle suggests that the cabin encourages withdrawal. I can see how all that wilderness can beckon one to become part of it. "(We'll) probably go back to the real world for a while but hopefully keep that place in mind if we ever come back up here." What they will do is uncertain. Both are considering graduate studies, Becca in psychology and Kyle in stage direction or film school. |
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| Listen to Kyle discuss what he loves about their cabin. |
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When I leave, I pull the six-inch thick door tight behind me, hoping to conserve
some of their heat. An unfathomable number of stars shine over my head,
and I begin the half-mile walk back to my car. For some reason, I'm no longer
afraid of the forest, and I even hesitate before crossing the road and getting
back into my truck. The place really is magical, and I now understand why
living as they do might be worth it.
The night after I visited the cabin, the power went out at my home, leaving my husband and me in darkness for over four hours. We bumbled around the kitchen searching for candles and matches. We put on hats and scarves for warmth and looked out the windows at the shadowed hills. Our electricity-powered heater sat silently throughout the outage. In Alaska, if you don't have heat, your life is on the line, and I recognized how unprepared we were for such an occurrence. My thoughts immediately went to Kyle and Becca. It was unlikely they even knew of the power outage. They sat cozy and warm in their little cabin in the woods. |
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| Hear Kyle talk about what it's like to arrive at his home. |
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On the Edge Home | Dom | Jethro | Kyle & Becca | About the Project
Contact the author, Gretchen King
