We found a tiny, still cove on the west bank of the river, right up against the bluff – that meant no acres of flood plain for bad guys to creep across. There was a small, mud beach and enough trees to make personal moments a little more private; it was convenient and fairly secure. We dropped anchor and called this the spot for the night.

There was still plenty of light to see by when Brin and I took the dinghy over to the shore, Brin didn’t much like crapping on board and I didn’t blame him. We got him on shore twice a day, morning and night and he was happy. He still had his pee post up on deck and I was diligent in changing the clay out so it didn’t turn into a cesspool on us. Dried clay was easy to come by, plenty of pottery items didn’t survive the kiln, those broken pieces were usually reused but a certain amount was ground up for litter beds. Brin got to run up and down the cove shore a little while, chase a rabbit and relieve himself; that was Brin sorted for the evening. I got to walk around and stretch my legs a little and enjoy life without the sound of the steam engine clanging away in the background.

Thirty minutes on terra firma did a lot of good for a landlubber like myself. I don’t mind floating around on a boat or ship but am much more comfortable on dry ground. Supper was cooking when I returned and it was another of Aunty & Matilda’s specials - the difference now was we could actually cook it up properly on the squat little wood stove. We had a dutch oven and it worked just perfectly for the pot roast they had sent along in a large clay jar. The food was simply poured into the hot pan, then lidded and allowed to heat up. The surprise was when the two loaves of bread came up from the engine room! It turned out that a small steel box had been attached to the side of the fire box allowing it to serve as a rudimentary oven. I truly loved it when people showed adaptability.

I had been expecting travel rations; I assumed cold meat with cheese and bread like you’d find in a lunch box, eaten sitting on the deck in the cold. Instead I had a full, hot meal at a table in a cramped but warm room, full of the cream of our sailor crop. The first bite of delicious venison smothered in gravy was heavenly. The tender meat broke apart under my fork, spreading rich warmth with every bite. Chewing wasn’t absolutely necessary and yet with every chew additional flavor rolled out, lighting up different portions of your tongue. The root vegetables were very mashable, practically begging to be turned into a pile of smooshed potatoes with veggies.

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Naturally I obliged and then spooned additional gravy out of the pot to fill my little potato volcano. I sent a tiny piece of bread crust sailing across the lake and then brutally attacked with my fork. It was a short battle and I was victorious and completely stuffed. I let Brin lick my plate before I washed my eating tools in the bucket provided and sat back down to enjoy a beer and some time with the boys.

Expectations drive fulfilment and since I had expected very little but received a lot I was very, very happy. I didn’t have cleanup duty so I went out on deck to enjoy a cigarette and spend a moment with the stars. The brisk autumn air was refreshing and just cold enough to force me to cut my smoke a little short. The wind smelled of the river and autumn and the quiet noise of the river was calming. I flipped the remains of my cigarette into the water and took myself off to bed.

Morning brought more good food. It was impossible to ignore the sounds of the boat coming to life and I rolled out of my hammock feeling pretty good after a long night’s rest with a full belly. Hammocks are comfortable if nothing else and the cargo house stayed just warm enough to make it a pleasant sleep. I was thankful for the chamber pot as I began dressing for the day, I didn’t need to brave the cold morning air just quite yet. Brin would need to go out soon so I put his food down for him and went out into the main cabin to get my wakeup coffee.

Sven was manning the stove and cooking up what looked like potatoes fritters with leftover meat and scrambled eggs. There was a stack of fritters on the table, along with a plate of meat and I could hear the eggs crackling in the buffalo tallow on the stove. I sat my chair down at the table, climbed into it and started in on my coffee.

Like everyone else I carried my own eating tools as none were provided, I also carried spices, salt, pepper and that precious sugar for my coffee. It’s just how things were done out on the frontier; nobody had extra tableware just sitting around in a cupboard somewhere. All of the houses on the frontier were small and all of the cupboards were stuffed full of more important things than spare tableware. So you carried your own. You usually had a lunch pail also; if not you wrapped your food up in a spare piece of cloth and carried it along for the work day.

Life was different but in some ways it was still the same, except for the food. I smiled as I saw the biscuits coming up to the cabin from down below. The food was definitely much better in this little section of time.

I smeared some butter on a potato fritter and stuffed the fried goodness into my mouth.